


No Chance of Losing

by lc2l



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-08
Updated: 2011-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc2l/pseuds/lc2l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The backbone of poker is that when you have a good hand, you go all in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Chance of Losing

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [](http://cookie57.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**cookie57**](http://cookie57.dreamwidth.org/) for beta-ing and letting me flail wildly at her about follow-up ideas and crossovers and my general crazy. Thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/thecooz32/profile)[**thecooz32**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/thecooz32/) for being consistently awesome and my soul mate on the fandom plain (ilumorethancookies). Thanks to everyone on madness who encouraged me to get this done.

One  
It's a risk, but then, everything is. Sitting down at the table to play the game was a risk (though not one that Simon Fuller—Kris's owner of the last few years—ever considers because, hello, gambling problem) and the backbone of poker is that when you have a good hand, you go all in.

  
Simon's hand is almost impossible to beat, which Kris knows because he is sitting politely behind the man where he can see all the cards in his hand.

  
At the opposite end of the table Simon's opponent—the tall, black haired, drop-dead-gorgeous man who only gave his first name, Adam—is tapping his fingers against the back of his hand in a gesture that Kris learnt at least an hour ago means he's bluffing.

  
The stranger thinks he is subtle, that much is clear from the cocky set of his jaw and the way his eyes keep flicking to Kris instead of focusing on the game, but he is as easy to read as the cheap-as-dirt books that Simon picks up from the market so Cook can teach Archie to read.

  
Simon is going to win this hand, there's no doubt, but the important thing now is how to make sure he wins as much as possible because he's already gone all in and Adam matched it, barely denting the large pile of gold in front of him. If Simon even wants to break even after this game, he needs to put in something new. Something worth, if not a fortune, at least enough to cover meals for the next fortnight.

  
So Kris leans forward in his chair to whisper in his ear. "Bet me." Sure, he's only a minstrel and a relatively unknown one at that, but Adam's eyes have been tracking him all evening so maybe curiosity will be enough.

  
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Simon says softly.

  
Kris snorts. "It's the best idea, master. It's the only chance you have to make your money back." He leans in closer to breath words too soft for Adam to hear. "You know you have no chance of losing."

  
Kris has to be imagining the slight increase in tension in Adam's arms as he moves back and takes a step forward to hold his hand over the pile of gold and silver in the centre of the table, waiting for the go ahead.

  
"Very well," Simon says stiffly. "Raise."

  
Adam's smile says that he's taking the bait even before he reaches behind the table to pick up one of his copious bags of coins. The one he selects—apparently at random—and tosses onto the table is full of gold coins. "A consort," he says, drawing the word out and eyeing Kris as though he has already won.

  
Kris almost opens his mouth to protest this description but Adam is reaching below the table for a second bag of gold and no one would pay this much for a minstrel, no one would put Kris's value this high, so he holds his tongue as gold spills across his hand, lightly pinning it to the pile.

  
There is no way they can lose. Kris reminds himself of this over and over as Adam tosses a couple more handfuls of money onto the table. There is now more gold scattered around Kris's hand than he has seen in his entire life.

  
This will be enough to raise their station in the world. A bigger house, invites the all the best parties. Perhaps one day Kris will find himself playing for a duke, or a lord from the north.

  
Adam flicks a gold coin between his fingers for a long moment then reaches out and drops it lazily on top of the pile. "I'd say that about matches your raise, wouldn't you Lord Fuller?"

  
Kris glances back in time to see Simon swallow weakly. "I'd say," he manages in a small, weak voice.

  
Adam smiles lazily, leaning back in the ornate wooden chair that Simon had to borrow because they couldn't actually afford to keep anything that luxurious in the house. "Very well," he says, watching Kris when he should be keeping an eye on Simon. "I'll call. Let's see what you've got."

  
Simon hesitates, and for a moment he looks like he might be about to call the whole thing off. Then, slowly, he places his cards face up on the table. Four aces.

  
Kris looks away from the table to Adam, unable to hide a small smirk because did Adam really think Simon would take a risk like this if he didn't have the hand to back it up? Did Adam think there was any chance Kris would suggest it if Simon might lose?

  
Adam barely glances at the table, doesn't even look at his own hand before throwing it, face up, onto the wood. His eyes are still fixed on Kris, the black paint around them seeming to make them bluer than should be possible.

  
For half an instant, Kris wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

  
"Well," Adam says, low and seductive. His fingers aren't tapping anything now and he reaches out to close them around Kris's wrist, lifting it out of its cocoon of gold.

  
Kris tears his eyes away from the two twin points of blue and towards the table. A straight flush. A... Kris's breath catches in his throat as Adam's thumb brushes lightly across the inside of his wrist. "That was a good game."

Two  
Kris wishes he has his guitar because Simon, his master—his ex-master—looks tired and this would usually be the moment he would wave for a song. Except he can't ask Kris to sing for him anymore, and Kris can't play because Adam has claimed one of his hands and is tracing patterns across the palm with a black painted fingernail.

  
"Another round?" Simon asks, as though he has anything left to bet. As though he has anything left at all. "Double or nothing?"

  
Adam's thumb traces up until he can flick the veins in Kris's wrist. "I think we have played enough for one night. I appear to have taken a large amount of your money, and I would hate to find myself in possession of your house as well."

  
Kris stares at Simon so he doesn't have to look into Adam's blue eyes. Simon looks back at him, apologetic as though this is in some way his fault, as though he should have predicted this.

  
Adam's thumb is crawling up the inside of Kris's arm, under the rough cotton of his sleeve, and he can't seem to move away.

  
"Where are you staying tonight, my Lord?" Simon asks.

  
Adam lets his hand drop out from under Kris's sleeve, entangling their fingers together instead. He answers Simon's question, but his eyes don't leave Kris's face. He seems to be searching for something there. "Are you offering me a room?"

  
Simon is obliged to offer him hospitality because all they know about him is that he's richer than they will ever be. He summons a man with the strangest hair Kris has ever seen - short on one side, long on the other and unnaturally pale - to move all his winnings to a carriage parked outside.

  
Adam tugs lightly on their joined hands and Kris finds himself stumbling forwards, stopping just short of falling into the man's lap. "I suppose I don't have to head home until tomorrow." He waves a hand behind him at the blond slave. "We'll be staying with these fine people tonight, Tommy. Make the necessary arrangements."

  
Tommy vanishes and Adam stands up. He is too close, Kris thinks, and also too tall - Kris's eyes are level with his neck which he is sure is a nice neck but it is Adam's eyes that he doesn't trust and would like to keep track of. "You may lead the way, Mr Fuller."

  
Simon makes one last attempt to delay. "I am afraid the room may not be quite what you are used—"

  
"You may lead the way, Mr Fuller" Adam repeats, more firmly. "I am sure whatever you can offer will be adequate for my needs." His eyes drop to Kris and his lips curve into a not-so-reassuring smile that suggests Kris will find out what these 'needs' are sooner, rather than later.

Three  
Simon puts Adam in the guest bedroom, the largest and most lavish room in the house. It contains the only king size bed he could afford—though that will now have to be sold to cover the money lost to Adam—, two soft chairs and a low table. Kris rarely gets to look inside, and to his mind it is the height of luxury, but Adam looks at it with slight distaste. "It will do," he acknowledges, tugging Kris carelessly over the threshold. "I suppose."

  
"If there is anything I can get you, my lord."

  
Adam waves a hand to dismiss Simon. "I am sure I will be fine. Send Tommy up when he arrives with my bag, and if you could find somewhere to house my other servants that would be much appreciated."

  
"My lord." Simon lingers a moment longer, but has no choice other than to bow and leave the room.

  
He'll have to go downstairs, Kris finds himself thinking. He'll have to go into Cook's kitchen and tell Cook and Archie that he has lost something else at the poker table. No, that he has lost everything else at the poker table. Tell them that he'll have to sell the house, the furniture, possibly one of the only two slaves he has left. Kris wonders if he'll even get the chance to say goodbye.

  
Adam smiles, reaching out with his free hand to turn Kris's head until he is no longer staring after Simon but up into those piercing blue eyes. "Alone at last," he says, placing a soft kiss at the edge of Kris's mouth that makes his whole body tingle.

  
He wonders what Adam would say if he mentions that this is his first kiss, then Adam slides a hand to cup his neck and kisses him properly. His lips are soft, warm and taste faintly of strawberries but Kris barely has time to notice this before Adam is opening his mouth, teasing Kris's lips apart, and Kris can taste Adam's tongue. It's nice in the sense that it makes his body melt and his fingers tighten where they were still holding Adam's hand but at the same time he can tell he is panicking and it must be painfully obvious that he's never done this before, because Adam is pulling back with a strange expression on his face.

  
"You know what you're doing," he says, and it's not quite a question. "The whole 'innocent' routine, I don't need it. You can just be natural."

  
Kris swallows, feeling his face heating up. "I don't know what I'm doing," he manages. "Not so much."

  
Adam's fingers brush across his jaw and under his chin, tilting his face up so he's staring into those big, blue eyes. "Blushing too? This isn't filling me with confidence, baby. Are you sure you're a consort?" He sounds like he's trying to make a joke, but it just hangs awkwardly in the air when Kris doesn't laugh. He is blushing bright red and he wishes he could look away from Adam's face but has to console himself staring at Adam's black hair which somehow falls in perfect spikes.

  
"No," he says, barely louder than a whisper.

  
Adam moves back a tiny bit further. "Then what are you?" he asks, his voice is filled with the promise of danger if Kris answers wrong, which would be easier if Kris had any idea what Adam is looking for.

  
"I'm... I mean, up until now I've been... only sometimes I do other odd jobs too because Simon only has me and Archie and Cook and I've never consorted or anything close—" Adam's eyes seem to be getter darker so Kris gets to the point. "I play music. I'm a minstrel."

  
Adam laughs, though it doesn't sound like he actually finds anything that funny and he stops touching Kris, turning away to run a hand through his hair. Kris looks down at his empty hand for a moment, then pulls his sleeve over it to try and hold in the warmth. "A minstrel," Adam echoes. "Like I don't have enough fucking musicians." He glances over his shoulder at Kris, and his expression makes Kris kind of wish he could just melt into the floor and be done with it. "Well, I paid too much for you."

  
Kris swallows. "You didn't pay anything," he reminds Adam, and for a moment he thinks he might have got a genuine smile from the man.

  
"There is that." He turns back to take in Kris again, this time looking without touching. "I'm guessing your parents sold you, to deal with the bills? They should've set you up as a consort, there's so much more money there. The land is full of musicians."

  
Kris bites his lip and doesn't mention that when he was sold, he was five years old. "I don't know how to be a consort."

  
"Well," Adam says, running the pad of his thumb along Kris's bottom lip. "You're going to have to learn fast."

Four  
Adam is distracted before he can start teaching—and Kris tries not to think about what Adam might want him to learn—by Tommy arriving with the bags. Adam releases Kris, crossing over to kiss Tommy lightly on the lips. Kris opens his mouth to ask what's going on and isn't he supposed to be Adam's consort then remembers that he's nothing of the sort and closes it again.

  
Anyway, he's nothing like Tommy who tilts his head and kisses back as though he loves every moment, letting Adam's bags drop from his hands to the floor. His eyes are ringed in the same black kohl as Adam's, and Kris privately hopes this isn't something that's expected from all Adam's friends.

  
Tommy draws back a little, his mouth slightly redder than before. "I thought you had a play toy of your very own now."

  
Adam laughs, low and intimate. Kris wonders if he should look away, if this is supposed to be come kind of private moment.. "He's a minstrel. I've gone and got myself another musician. Dad gave me Danny and then Lee and now I have—" He glances over his shoulder with a questioning look.

  
"Kris," says Kris, staring at the wall and wishing he could disappear.

  
"Kris," Adam continues, turning back to Tommy as though Kris has done just that. "If I want music, I make music."

  
Tommy tilts his head a little so he can take in Kris. He doesn't look impressed. "Fuck him anyway?" he offers, which suggests he isn't actually Adam's partner for life. "He's still cute, still your type, still yours."

  
Kris wishes he had some say in the matter, but Adam is already releasing Tommy and turning back to him. "Well?" he asks, his eyes flashing with the air of a challenge.

  
Kris clasps his hands carefully in front of him and stares at them so he doesn't look at Adam and doesn't shout something ridiculous like 'stop treating me like a _thing._ ' He's become too accustomed to living with Simon if he's really starting to think shouting at his master is an acceptable course of action.

  
"Technically he is correct," he says, hoping he isn't trembling too noticeably. "You can do whatever you want." He can't help flashing his eyes up though and tries to ignore the faint stab of disappointment as Adam turns away from him back to Tommy.

  
"The three of you have somewhere to sleep?"

  
Tommy nods. "The floor might be more comfortable than the beds, but I suppose we will survive it."

  
Kris swallows down the urge to say there are only three beds in the house for slaves which means Cook and Archie are going to have to huddle together on the stone tiles beside the dying kitchen stove and won't sleep at all, just so Adam's entourage can complain.

  
"We'll leave at dawn. Pick up some food on the road, and we'll be back at the castle by tomorrow night." Why are they going to the castle? Kris wonders if there's some kind of festival happening soon, one of those formal events that Simon occasionally receives invites for but can never afford to attend.

  
"No more casual trips to the wastes of the south?" Tommy drawls. "Shouldn't we pick up a few more southern musicians, just in case you run out on the journey home?"

  
Kris flicks his eyes up again in time to see Adam drop another kiss on Tommy's lips. "Get out of here."

  
Tommy steps back, the hint of a smile on his lips as he drops into a perfect courtly bow. "Prince Lambert."

  
That sounds suspiciously like treason to Kris, but Adam laughs as though it's nothing so Kris stays silent and keeps still. He stares at the floor and listens to the footsteps that signal Tommy leaving and Adam moving around the room.

  
"You're allowed to move," the lord says, sounding faintly amused.

  
Kris raises his head a little to see Adam sitting on the bed. His coat—the black leather one with far too many unnecessary buckles and chains—is lying on the clothes chest and his tall black boots have been placed neatly against one wall. He is still wearing the unnaturally tight leather trousers that Kris has to force himself not to look at and a soft white shirt that might well cost more than everything Kris has ever owned. "I am simply waiting for your orders, Lord Lambert."

  
Adam stands up like a cat, all dark flashes and too-smooth movements as he slinks towards Kris. "That's a tad formal for our level of intimacy, don't you think—" he trails off questioningly.

  
"Kris," Kris supplies. Again.

  
Adam smiles, reaching out to drag his knuckles across Kris's collarbone. "Kris," he echoes, making Kris's name sound faintly dirty. Kris's mind seems to have blanked entirely as he stares at Adam's dark lips forming his name. All he can think is _I have tasted that tongue._ "Let's drop the 'Lambert' thing, okay?"

  
It takes a long moment for Kris to pull his thoughts into line. Adam's land is lingering against his shoulder and even though other than that they're not touching, Kris is trembling a little all over. "If you like," he says. "Master."

  
This is met by a heavy sigh and a hand to the hip. "Adam. My name is Adam."

  
That is too much. Kris shakes his head quickly because using a real name leads to confusion and familiarity (and then you get beaten in the rose garden because you thought you were there to be her friend, but her parents don't want to hear about kiss chase when all that matters is that you kissed her and there were people watching and no one listens when you say you didn't enjoy it that much anyway). "I don't think that would be suitable, master."

  
"Not master," Adam says firmly.

  
"My lord?" Kris offers, as Adam pulls him slightly closer. He tilts his head sideways at Adam's unspoken command, allowing the lord to lean in and run his tongue across his neck.

  
"'My prince'," Adam murmurs against Kris's skin. "You may call me your prince."

  
Which is more treason unless... Kris's thoughts trail off as he realises that people don't just ask to be called royalty and Adam is possibly the richest person Kris has ever met so it might be possible that—fuck—Kris has somehow become a royal consort.

  
He swallows, a move which Adam must be able to feel against his cheek. "Whatever you want," he whispers. "My prince."

  
Adam leans up to brush his lips across the curve of his ear. "Kris," he says, dragging the name out warm against Kris's ear. "I want you, baby."

Five  
Naturally, Kris fucks it up. Adam's lips are soft and he's already half hard when he presses against Kris's body and next thing Kris is panicking and he is halfway across the room with his arms folded across his chest.

  
Adam pouts a little, lower lip sticking out and Kris's libido tells Kris that he is an idiot. Then Adam turns away which means Kris has disappointed him and the rest of his body agrees with the 'idiot' idea. "We can try again," he offers, hesitantly. "Prince."

  
Adam still has his back turned, but he shakes his head.

  
"I'm sorry," Kris says. "I panicked, I didn't mean—"

  
"I'm not going to make you do this if you don't want to." He strips off his shirt and throws it on the floor. Kris isn't sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn't the scattering of freckles across the Prince's skin. "If you want, you can sing me to sleep."

  
He is still fairly sure he's disappointed Adam, and at some point there will inevitably be consequences but right now all Kris can do is try to make him happy. He waits, standing perfectly still, as Adam washes his face at the basin and climbs into bed, unable to ignore the fact that Adam doesn't look at him once.

  
 _"Roads in front of me, leading me astray,_  
 _Are you leaving me, or are you leading the way?_  
 _Can you hear what I'm saying?_  
 _I need to know,"_ His voice falters on the last note because Adam isn't lying back anymore, he's sitting up and watching Kris with a strange expression. Clearly he didn't expect a song. Clearly Kris needs to get used to not being a minstrel anymore because he's a consort now (and even thinking that makes him a little bit scared and maybe a little bit excited at the same time.)

  
"Sorry," he says again, acutely aware that apologising means he's doing things wrong and messing up for the fucking prince. "I'll let you sleep."

  
Adam sighs a little, shaking his head. "Keep going," he says, falling back on his pillows. Kris isn't sure if he's supposed to overhear the next bit but he is having difficulty getting the lyrics straight in his head. "If only I needed a minstrel."

  
Kris isn't sure what that means, but it probably isn't good. _"Feels like I'm trying to breathe underwater,"_ he sings and carries on until his voice is hoarse and the moon is high.

  
Then he curls up on the rug on the floor below his prince, and tries not to think about anything.

Six  
It turns out that when Adam says 'dawn' he literally means 'the moment the sun starts to touch the horizon.' He must wake with the first flash of light on his face, though it is clearly not bright enough to see by because he trips over Kris who is lying on the floor, trying not to think about how he is cold and stiff and everything hurts.

  
They pack the carriage in the yard—Tommy and Adam's two other servants moving with swift efficiency, as though they have had a long, luxurious night of sleep. Servants, not slaves, because Adam is a prince and can afford to pay people to serve him.

  
Kris knows he isn't supposed to ask for things or question his master's judgement but the carriage is getting close to full and he hasn't said goodbye. He shouldn't ask, but he does and Adam smiles and says of course he can go say goodbye to Archie and Cook.

  
Then Kris asks if he can get his guitar and Adam frowns. "We haven't really got space," he says at the same time as one of the servants Kris doesn't know—a man with some kind of goatee - leans out of the carriage to say, "That depends on what type it is."

  
Kris has no idea what type it is, but he knows that he, Archie and Cook saved every penny they could get their hands on for five years and then Simon found out what they were doing and agreed to pay the other half. Kris knows it is the guitar on which he learned to play, as much a part of him as his arms and legs.

  
He goes back outside—after Archie and Cook have both hugged him and Archie has cried a little—and Tommy barely looks at it before snorting and turning away.

  
"No," says the man who asked about it earlier. "We don't have room."

  
"We have negative room," Tommy drawls. "I will pay you to leave that here."

  
Kris closes his hand tighter on the neck and throws a desperate look at Adam, who just shrugs apologetically. "We're full to bursting as it is."

  
"I can carry it," Kris offers, forgetting principles and rules.

  
Adam's eyes flash. "It stays here, you get in the carriage. Monte, Tommy, we're leaving."

  
Cook prises Kris's fingers off the neck and pushes him in Adam's direction. "I'll look after it for you," he promises.

  
Adam holds out a hand through the carriage door. Kris ignores it, pulling himself in and sitting opposite Adam, staring out the window at the closest thing he's had to a home since Katy's big house in the country all those years ago.

  
He doesn't speak for the rest of the day. Adam attempts to start conversations, but he never actually tells Kris to reply so it isn't against any rules to keep staring out the window, moving his fingers across an imaginary fret board.

  
It's true that the carriage is full—Kris is sitting next to boxes—but he is fairly sure if one of Adam's outfits had stayed behind, his guitar would fit in easily.

  
On the front with the reins, the three servants sound like they're having an awesome time.

  
*

  
When they stop for the night Adam sleeps in the carriage—moving all the boxes onto one bench so he can lie down - and Monte sets up a lamp so that Tommy can lead Kris into a circle of light. There, Kris is taught how to do a courtly bow (and hold until told to rise, only Tommy never says rise until Kris is aching all over), how to stand tall without looking anyone in the eye (because he has status but also doesn't? That part is just confusing), how to dance (step in time to the music, follow the prince's lead and for all the world's sake don't fall over).

  
The sun is coming up on the horizon, Kris's steps are more like stumbles and he thinks he might have gained the ability to fall asleep mid-bow, when Tommy leans forward to whisper in his ear, "If you hurt him, I will fucking kill you," and then turns back to wake Monte and start the carriage moving again.

  
Adam yawns and sits up as Kris climbs in the carriage. "Learn anything useful?" he asks, his tone perfectly polite though his eyes seem to say 'if you ignore me again today, you will regret it.'

  
Kris swallows, lowering his eyes. "Is there anything in particular I am practising for, my prince?"

  
"There will be a ball the evening after we arrive home. You will attend as my consort and you will act in a manner befitting your position." He taps the seat next to him. "I suggest you get some sleep."

  
Kris moves hesitantly across the carriage, sitting down first before slowly lying down, uncomfortably curled up. With Adam on the same seat, he can just about fit if he pulls his legs up and drops his head against his chest.

  
Then Adam sighs and grabs his head, pulling it up to rest on his own leg as though Kris is expected to use the prince of the realm as a pillow.

  
"Is it my turn to sing you to sleep?" he asks, which once again seems like a trick question and Kris finds himself wishing that once in a while Adam would just be straight with him. Except then he would probably end up on the road and it was a long walk back to Simon.

  
It is a question, one Kris cannot rightly ignore. He swallows down his pride. "Whatever you wish, my prince."

  
Adam sighs again, but does sing softly, and Kris almost jerks upright again because Adam's voice is amazing. "Yeah," He sings. "Slow it down. Whataya want from me?" which is the last thing Kris would expect a prince to sing about and he wants to sit up and talk about music until they reach the city or the castle or forever.

  
But Adam told him to sleep so he closes his eyes, regulates his breathing and pretends not to notice when Adam brushes warm fingers through his hair. He even drifts off, for a little while.

Seven  
When he wakes up, the carriage is quiet. Kris sits up a little to look past Adam out the window. Tommy is the only person left on the bench up front, flicking the reins with a nonchalant elegance that Kris will never be able to emulate.

  
"Monte went to get some things from town," Adam explains, stretching out the leg Kris had been lying on. "LP is informing the castle to expect us." Kris assumes LP is Adam's darker servant. His sits up slowly, moving as far away from Adam as the small bench allows.

  
Adam is drumming his fingers against his leg, looking at Kris as though trying to work out what to say. After a moment he reaches out to take Kris's hand, lacing their fingers together. It's definitely a contrast: Adam's soft, perfectly manicured hands and Kris's guitar-calloused fingers and bitten down stubs of nails. "I need you to do something for me," he says, even though it is a completely pointless thing to say.

  
"Anything you ask, my prince."

  
"Yeah." Adam's thumb rubs back and forth across Kris's hand. "I need... you can't tell anyone. No one can know that you're not a trained consort. You, me and Tommy. That's it. You tell anyone else..." he lets the sentence trail off, the unspecified threat somehow much worse than anything specific.

  
Kris isn't sure how to tell Adam that all this is irrelevant. Surely Adam knows that he doesn't need to ask or threaten, all he has to do is tell Kris what to do. That is the definition of slavery, after all.

  
Adam seems to be waiting for an answer, when one is not forthcoming he adds. "That includes my friends, that includes my servants and that includes my parents. If the King of the realm stands in front of you and asks if you're a trained consort, you tell him that you are."

  
Kris isn't sure why there is any problem here. He isn't the king of the realm's slave, he's Adam's. "My prince," he says, to stop Adam going on about it.

  
This is apparently enough, Adam falls back against the seat cushions and doesn't let go of Kris's hand. "We will attend my parents in the throne room first. You will walk in beside me, with Tommy behind. Tommy will stop a certain distance away, you follow until I stop and then go down on one knee approximately two steps behind. You stay perfectly still until I tap you on the shoulder, then you rise and follow me out. You do _not_ get this wrong, understand?"

  
"My prince."

  
"You don't speak, even if you think you're being spoken to. You will not say anything from this moment until I say you can."

  
Kris nods, Adam seems a tad surprised—as though he expected Kris to make a sound—but doesn't comment on it. Kris waits until it is clear Adam is done talking, then turns away to watch the city passing by outside the window. He misses his guitar.

  
*

  
"Say something." Adam throws his coat down on the most luxurious bed Kris has ever seen. The whole room is luxurious—the wardrobes (all four of them) are probably worth more than everything Kris has seen in his life. Kris hovers by the doorway, wishing he has his guitar to hold on to, or just something from his old life. He feels out of place here, like a rag doll in the most magnificent dollhouse in the kingdom.

  
"My prince," he says, stumbling forwards as Tommy knocks past him with the first of Adam's bags.

  
Adam waves a hand, simultaneously pointing out a dumping ground for Tommy and brushing off Kris's comments. "Something else."

  
Kris swallows down the urge to shout. "What did you have in mind, my prince?"

  
Adam drags a hand through his hair—Kris is still doing everything wrong but he misses his guitar, his home, his friends and he finds, to his surprise, that he doesn't care all that much about his prince's discomfort. "What do you think of the palace?"

  
'I think there was no need for you to take all of Simon's money with you when you left,' Kris thinks darkly. "It is very large, my prince."

  
Adam starts towards him, then stops and goes to his bags instead. "You don't have to say that every time, Kris. We're alone, we can just talk. Like normal people."

  
Kris clasps his hands behind his back. "You are my prince, I am your slave."

  
"Is this—" he stops, wringing his fingers together. "Tommy, has Monte returned?"

  
Tommy glances sideways from where he is casually pilfering chains from Adam's bags and clipping them onto his own trousers. "Probably. Your parents kept us on that floor for a fucking age."

  
Kris wonders if Tommy's knee is also just losing the numbness so he can tell how cold and sore it really is.

  
"Could you tell him to come up here?"

  
Tommy clips a third chain around the first two, wrapping it loosely around his leg so it chinks when he walks. "Sure."

Eight  
If Kris had been tempted to hit Adam before, it was never as strong as it is the moment he presents Kris with a dark brown, brand new guitar as though it is the greatest present in the world. Monte and Tommy are standing at the side of the room, they could probably kill Kris before the skin of his fist can so much as brush Adam's nose.

  
"Well?" Adam says, eager as a puppy as though he actually expects Kris to be _happy._ Kris smiles a stiff smile.

  
"It's a guitar, my prince." It is probably a good guitar. All six strings are in tune, which is something his guitar back home could never quite achieve, and it has a strap which he can sling over his shoulder so it hangs in just the right position for him to strike a chord.

  
It feels wrong. In every single way.

  
Adam waves Tommy and Mote out of the room, crossing over to run a hand along the guitar neck—his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before skimming over Kris's hand as well. "I told Monte to get the best one he could find. What do you think?"

  
Kris plays another chord. It rings out, precise and in tune and completely lacking in soul. He doesn't think he can play it, he is almost certain he doesn't want to. "It is a good instrument," he says, wondering when his voice got so stiff. "My prince."

  
Adam's hand drops, his face closing off as though someone has thrown a switch. "You could make an effort to be grateful."

  
"I could, my prince." He stares at the strings so he doesn't have to think that this is the closest he has ever come to outright defiance.

  
"It's a guitar." Adam drags his fingers across the strings in a way that shows he has no idea what he is doing. "We left your guitar behind, I thought that was your big problem. Now you have a guitar, so there should be no problem."

  
Kris pulls the guitar off over his head and tosses it on the bed (very very carefully because—sure—he hates it but it is still an amazing instrument and he could get so much money for it and Archie would probably melt if he just had a chance to see it). "It's not my guitar, my prince."

  
Adam snatches it up. "No, because your guitar was shit. I've never seen Monte and Tommy agree on something so fast. This is new, it's better and I've giving it to you so you can stop looking at me like I crept into your house and killed your fucking puppy."

  
Kris stares up into Adam's face and fights the only way he knows how. "Would you like me to be grateful, my prince?"

  
Adam thrusts the guitar back into his hands. "Yes. Yes I would."

  
Kris closes his fingers around it, sliding the strap back over his head. "Thank you, my prince," he says softly. "I cannot express how much this means to me. This is a gift worthy of a far greater man than I and the honour you bestow upon me—"

  
"Fine," Adam snaps. "Do whatever the fuck you want." He turns on his heel and storms out.

  
Kris crosses the room to sit on the bed, dragging his finger across the unfamiliar strings of the dark brown guitar. From the bed, he can see Adam in the connected suite, sitting on another ornate bed with his back to Kris.

  
Kris watches his shoulders shake for almost ten minutes before the smug satisfaction fades and he realises maybe Adam is crying.

  
He wonders if consort training would have prepared him for this. As it is, all he can do is cross to the door and hover in the entrance. "I—" he begins, but can't think of anything to add.

  
"It's just an instrument," Adam says. His voice is clear, so maybe not actually _crying_ crying. "Just a _fucking_ lump of wood and some metal strings."

  
Kris swallows, then swings the guitar around to the front and plays. It sounds different on this guitar, but it's still music.

  
 _"It may not be, the best one  
It may not be, like the rest of them  
But she makes it sound so sweet  
The melodies she makes it sing.  
On her red guitar."_

  
He lets the last note ring into silence.

  
Adam still doesn't look up. "You can sleep in the main room tonight," he says, his voice cracking only a little. "It was supposed to be a consort's room, after all."

  
Kris swallows. "And you?"

  
"No one can tell me where to sleep. I go where I want and do as I please." He drags a hand back through his hair. "Goodnight Kris."

  
Kris doesn't know what else to do, so he steps back and lets the door swing closed. "Goodnight, my prince."

Nine  
Kris stands by the doorway like an idiot for a moment, then turns away. He places the guitar carefully on top of one of the chests—trying not to scratch it because it was probably worth a fortune—and sits on the bed, wondering what happens now. He hasn't eaten anything since the handful of bread rolls and soft cheese Adam brought out in the carriage, but he's used to going far longer without eating so that isn't so much a problem as a mild inconvenience.

  
He isn't at all tired. He toys for a moment with the idea of picking the guitar up again, but Adam can probably hear through the wall and either Kris will wake him up or make him think the guitar is appreciated.

  
He explores the room instead. As well as the softest bed Kris has ever seen, Adam has four wardrobes. Kris opens two, but the sheer volume of leather, feathers and silver discourages him from even trying the rest. There is a desk, the surface covered with half finished letters, invites to various social occasions and a small stack of marriage proposals from what seems to be every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the kingdom.

  
He is crossing past the adjoining door to see the chest when he hears Adam speaking. It is probably wrong and a violation of some consort law that Kris doesn't know, but he still stops, leaning his ear against the wood to hear better.

  
"Brad was in complete and utter love with me, and he left. Tommy is beautiful and he lets me do whatever but he's straight and now Kris—Kris has gorgeous eyes and fluffy hair and the most amazing voice and he hates me."

  
Kris almost jerks backwards when the queen replies. "Have you considered taking Tommy to tomorrow night's ball?"

  
"I don't want to take Tommy to the ball," Adam replies, as though this has been the source of much argument in the past. "I am _tired_ of taking Tommy to balls. Is it too much to ask to be dating someone I actually like?"

  
Kris drops to one knee so he can peer through the keyhole and see the queen wrapping her arms around Adam's shoulders. "You could keep looking," she offers. "I am sure they have other consorts in the south. We can give you more time off if you want to have a proper search, not just pick the first one that takes your fancy."

  
For a moment Kris's heart leaps, then he remembers that losing his position as Adam's consort won't mean going home. It will mean a job in the kitchens, gardens or stables (he cannot imagine he would get a chance to play music for the king).

  
"No," Adam says sharply, clutching at his mother's arm. "I'm not selling him."

  
Kris's blood runs cold because of course they wouldn't keep him. You don't keep an old consort, you sell them on to someone else. Someone else who wouldn't know that Kris was new to this, someone who wouldn't stop like Adam always stops.

  
Kris wishes he could see Adam's face, wishes he could know if this is concern for his wellbeing or if Adam just really likes Kris's face.

  
The queen gives a long sigh. "Then I suppose you will have to be patient. Now we must both retire. I have a long day of decorating tomorrow and I am sure you will have a terrible job ahead of you trying to decide which outfit to wear."

  
Adam actually laughs a little. "Goodnight mother." He stands up to see her out then walks back to the bed and rests his head in his hands. He doesn't move for a long time.

  
Kris stands up and goes to bed. He lies awake for hours, trying to work out how he can try harder, what he can do. He has to make sure Adam doesn't decide to sell him. He has to.

*

He doesn't see Adam at all the following morning. He is dragged out of bed at an unreasonable hour by Tommy—already dressed in a loose red shirt, tight black trousers, his make-up perfect around his eyes—and a black haired man in a black waistcoat who doesn't look impressed at all.

  
"Really?" he asks, throwing a glance at Tommy as he walks around Kris looking up and down as though searching for one redeemable feature. Tommy nods and the newcomer gives a dramatic sigh. "I suppose we all have to work with what we're given." He pulls a tape measure out of his back pocket. "What is Adam thinking? Feathers? Belts? I have a nice line of collars that have just come in if he really wants to play the slave angle. I wouldn't have thought it with Brad but this kid has eyes that just scream 'tragic backstory'."

  
"We have to be nice, Cassidy," Tommy drawls, crossing over to the bed and lying back with his legs crossed so watch Kris's discomfort with obvious amusement. "Adam is courting."

  
The man—Cassidy—turns back to Kris with a rolls of the eyes. "Only the great prince Lambert could possibly buy a consort that he would have to court. Arms up."

  
It takes Kris a moment to realise he is being spoken to rather than ignored entirely. He raises his arms so Cassidy can keep measuring. He isn't entirely sure that Tommy is right about Adam courting. As far as he knows when courting you start with the flowers and the romantic letters and save the dragging off into the sunset until the end.

  
After Cassidy has measured every single inch of Kris's body (why on earth he needed to measure the radius of Kris's ear or the exact curve of Kris's ass, Kris will never know) he wanders off muttering about feathers and beads and things Kris would rather not think about. Tommy slides off the bed and takes Kris to a medium sized room which is empty but for Monte who plays acoustic guitar while Tommy attempts to teach Kris to waltz.

  
It is soon agreed on by all that Kris cannot dance. Even when there are no tree roots around, he trips over thin air and his feet—much to Tommy's despair—seem magnetically attracted to the blonde's snakeskin boots.

  
"We can get away with one dance," Tommy decides, over a quick lunch of warm bread, cheese that melts on Kris's tongue and fruits bursting with juice. "Adam can just pretend he's not in the mood. You do one dance at the start when he presents you and then you sit down and try not to look at anything too hard in case it breaks."

  
"You hate me," says Kris. "Don't you."

  
Tommy scowls, Monte carefully looks like he isn't listening. "Look," he snaps. "Adam is fucking amazing. He's good looking, kind and he's going to be a brilliant king one day. He also has terrible luck with guys and thanks to your little secret he's stuck in another fucked up relationship until he can find some way of getting rid of you without his conscience getting in the way." He pushes himself to his feet, dragging Kris after him. "So tonight you are going to smile, dance and try not to embarrass him in front of the whole court and maybe—just maybe—I won't have to sell you myself."

  
Kris swallows, and when they start again he tries harder.

Ten  
Cassidy returns as Kris is snatching quick bites from a cold chicken leg and answering Tommy's many, varied questions.

  
"If Adam kisses you after the dance?"

  
"Don't pull away, don't kiss back."

  
"If Adam asks for a second dance?"

  
"'I'm tired right now, but maybe in a little while'."

  
"If you find yourself on your own?"

  
"Avoid conversation, find Adam."

  
"If Adam is doing his own thing and can't be interrupted?"

  
"Sit down, look subtle, don't get drawn into conversation."

  
"If someone other than Adam asks you to dance?"

  
"'I don't think that would be a good idea, I would hate to upset my prince.'"

  
"And if someone compliments you on your outfit," Cassidy says as he steps into the room followed by a servant carrying a box that is far too big for one costume. "You thank them graciously and let them know that Cassidy Haley is a genius."

  
Kris isn't sure about the genius thing, but he's very glad Adam didn't go for the collar even though Cassidy insists on studded leather bands around his wrists and stencils the royal seal on Kris's arm—as though there could be any doubt as to who he belongs to. He doesn't get a shirt, not even anything as indecent as the thin button-lacking one Tommy gave him that morning, just an open black waistcoat that seems to accentuate his chest rather than cover it up.

  
Tommy pulls jars and brushes from somewhere in Adam's room. He paints dark blue all around Kris's left eye, then rings both eyes in jet black. One jar glistens more than the others and he pulls out a pinch of something that shimmers in the light, sprinkling it across Kris's hair and his dark eye—making Kris tilt his head back so it sticks to the body paint. "What is it?" Kris asks.

  
"Silver dust," Tommy replies casually - as though he sprinkles silver dust on the flowerbeds and the latrines as well. "Adam likes shiny things." He drags his fingers through Kris's hair so it sticks up in all directions and sprinkles some dark powder across it too which settles like ash on the bridge of his nose until Cassidy leans forward to blow it off.

  
Kris doesn't recognise himself in the mirror, and he doesn't have time to search out anything familiar in the glass before he is being dragged to the top of a flight of stairs and an attendant is standing beside a small bell. When the bell rings, it means Adam has started down a second flight across the building. If Kris doesn't reach the bottom at the exact moment Adam does, the whole attempt at a ruse will be wasted, according to Tommy.

  
There are so many things that can go wrong, there are so many things that Kris is almost certain _will_ go wrong and he's already forgetting everything and there are so many scenarios Tommy hasn't prepared him for. What if the king or queen approaches him? What if he is drawn into conversation? What if Adam is expecting to take him to bed and Kris messes up because he's never done it before and Adam decides to give up on him and never touch him again?

  
Silver dust falls onto Kris's eyelashes and he glances sideways to where Tommy is watching him with a slight pride—as an artist might look at a particularly good sculpture. There are a thousand questions he wants to ask and he only has time for one. "What happened with Brad?"

  
"Adam fell in love with him." Tommy pats him reassuring on the cheek. "Don't worry. It won't happen to you."

  
Then the bell rings, and Kris has to start walking.

*

He almost messes up the timing. Not because he did anything wrong, just because the moment he steps through the door and glances sideways he can see Adam.

  
He trips over his feet, would definitely have fallen head over heels to the balcony if it hadn't been for an intuitive doorman who caught his arm and pulled him back into stride just in time. He stays upright, takes the next step and prepares himself fully before turning his head again.

  
Even the second time, Adam takes his breath away. He's wearing a black tailcoat studded with silver with spiked plates on both shoulders. Instead of a crown, he wears a headdress of feathers each individually threaded with silver beads, and his hair falls in perfect black spikes across his face. Each of his eyes is ringed in black and then painted blue right up to the eyebrow, spreading out to his hair in swirling patterns. When he tilts his head to catch the light, silver dust shimmers like magic on his skin.

  
They reach the balcony at the same time and Adam hold out an arm for Kris to take. "You look wonderful," he says, and Kris should say something but as they walk together down to the floor he can't seem to form words.

  
"Presenting the Crown Prince Adam Mitchel Lambert and consort."

  
The crowd—which had been milling around the main hall—all turn as one to watch them walk slowly down the stairs. Adam raises a hand to wave to people, smiling brightly at every person in the room. Kris forces himself not to cling to Adam's arm for dear life and for the first time is grateful for his position. He doesn't have to smile or wave, according to Tommy he can just keep his eyes trained on the floor.

  
"Allison," Adam says happily, speeding up a little and half-dragging Kris across to a young woman in an amazing black dress. Kris remembers at the last minute to drop into a low bow and hold it as Adam takes the woman's hand and brushes a kiss across her knuckles. "Baby, how are you?" he opens, which isn't quite the formal greeting Tommy taught Kris.

  
Allison waves the question away with one hand. "Who is this?" she demands, grabbing Kris by the shoulder and pulling him upright in defiance of everything Tommy has ever taught him.

  
Adam slides an arm around Kris's waist. "Allison, this is my new consort Kris. Kris, this is Lady Allison Iraheta of Mandor. Back when I was ten and she had just been born we were going to be betrothed and there was going to be peace and all sorts of things like that. Then I was gay and she was too cool for me anyway."

  
"Damn right," Allison laughs. Kris wishes he was still bowing, that way no one could see the red of his face and the fact that he has no idea where to look. "So did you succeeding in finding yourself down south?"

  
"I found Kris," Adam offers with a grin, squeezing Kris tighter against him. "He sings, he plays guitar and Tommy promises me he can dance." He glances back as somewhere music starts to play. "Which he can prove to us all now." He releases Kris's waist to take half a step back and bow. This is another thing Tommy didn't mention, so Kris goes with his gut instinct and bows back. "May I have this dance?" Adam asks, the moment Kris is upright.

  
"Yes, my prince," says Kris, barely finishing his sentence before Adam starts pulling him towards the dance floor. He drops the quickest of bows to Allison before letting himself be dragged away, hoping to any almighty power that the first dance is a waltz.

Eleven  
It is a waltz, which is probably mostly due to the fact that LP is sitting behind the drums and forcing out a steady ¾ beat. Kris takes deep breaths, doesn't clutch onto Adam's hands and just about makes it to the final beat without falling or stepping on Adam's toes—though once or twice that was more due to Adam's quick steps back than Kris's own skills.

  
The music finishes with a long drawn out note, Kris is almost kneeling and the sounds haven't even faded away before Adam is pull him back up to his feet. Kris is aware—in some back part of his mind—that the whole hall is watching him, but all he can focus on are the beads of sweat on Adam's forehead and the perfect curve of the painted shadows around his eyes.

  
"It was an honour to dance with you this evening," Adam says, and the words are set but his blue eyes seem to say 'I mean this.'

  
"The honour was all mine," Kris manages, rough and slightly breathless but it is worth making the effort to see Adam's small smile as he leans in.

  
He lips brush Kris's cheek, softer than a butterfly's wing. To any of the hundreds of people watching it must seem quaint and adorable. To Kris, and anyone else who is in on the secret, it seems like Adam isn't taking any chances.

  
Adam takes his arm again to lead him gracefully off the dance floor. Allison is across the room, speaking to someone Kris doesn't recognise (though that encompasses almost everyone here) but people are starting to approach Adam and soon Kris finds himself awash in formal conversation.

  
Adam seems to know everyone. He greets each new arrival by name, asks questions above and beyond the formal 'how are you?'s. A young woman is asked about her three children, each by name. A man indistinguishable from the hundreds of others is asked if he has finished the bridge and how is the hunting on his estate.

  
He doesn't forget Kris either. Tommy made Kris hold the bow for up to half an hour—warning that if the nobles got talking they would forget their slaves in a moment—but Adam always remembers to tap Kris's shoulder and introduce him to whoever he's talking to. "This is Kris," he says, as though Kris's name is somehow important in the grand scheme of things. "Yes, I met him on my trip South. A Lord Fuller sold him to me. No, I hadn't heard of him either but he was the perfect gentleman and I could not commend him highly enough."

  
No fewer than six people tell Adam how wonderful it is that he's found someone new after all this time.

  
"And a trained consort as well," says Lady DioGuardi, who seems charming as long as you don't do anything she disagrees with. "It's so much better that way. I know you aren't a great fan of the formality but I think it's important that your partner knows what they're doing in a professional relationship like this. It helps everyone keep the appropriate distance, don't you think?"

  
Adam slides his arm around Kris's waist again. "I am certainly thankful for everything Kris has brought me." He says, and when the conversation winds down he drags Kris away into a corner and rolls his eyes as though they are both in on some private joke. "I need a drink, are you thirsty?"

  
Kris hasn't been talking, but it will give him something to do, so he nods.

  
Adam lifts his hand, brushing his lips quickly across Kris's knuckles. "I'll be back in two minutes. Wait here."

  
Kris nods again. "My prince," he says, but Adam is already crossing the now crowded dance floor to reach the ornate buffet table at the far end of the large room. No one seems to be looking Kris's way, so he sinks slowly onto one of the soft chairs that have been scattered around for the guests and tries to look like he belongs there.

  
"Simon." The voice makes Kris jump out of his skin, spinning completely ungracefully in his seat to see a man leaning on the back of the seat and watching him. His haircut makes his head look like a perfect rectangle and Kris is too distracted by that thought to stand up and bow.

  
The man raises his eyebrows a little. "I'm sorry, should I have said Lord Cowell of Avalon."

  
Kris turns bright red, pushing himself to his feet, stumbling and almost falling over as he bends past double in what is no doubt the worst court bow in history. "Lord Cowell," he says, trying frantically to pull his thoughts together and remember Tommy's advice.

  
"Will you walk with me?"

  
He doesn't actually say Kris can rise, but when Kris slowly lifts his head Lord Cowell isn't even looking in his direction, so he assumes it's accepted. What was Tommy's rule... avoid conversation, he's failed that one, and find Adam. Kris tilts his head back, trying to find Adam's feathered head in the crowd.

  
"Is there a problem with your neck?" Cowell asks, distastefully. "Come. Walk with me."

  
Kris swallows. "I'm supposed to wait for Adam," he says feebly.

  
If Cowell's eyebrows go any higher, they will fall off the top of his head. Kris's face is probably hot enough to cook eggs on. "Well," Cowell remarks. "Consorts are certainly trained to a very different standard over here."

  
Kris drops his eyes to the ground. "I meant to say, my prince has commanded me to wait here for him, my lord."

  
"I am sure your prince would not object." He takes Kris's arm in such a way that Kris cannot pull away without causing offense. "Come, talk with me."

  
Kris casts one last desperate look at the dance floor but Adam is nowhere to be seen. He can't see any choice but to let Cowell drag him away.

Twelve  
A good slave would return to the place he had been told to wait and stay there until his master finds him. A good slave would stand politely and avoid conversation where told to.

  
A good consort would remain aloof and untouched because good consorts do not show their emotions, good consorts do not seem to have emotions.

  
Kris is not a good anything. As soon as Cowell released him he fled out the small side door and onto the small balcony overlooking the side gardens. Unlike the very busy main balcony, this doesn't look over the rose garden or the lake. It is not full of romantic scents or beautiful sights, just the kitchen gardens and the strong smell of fennel and crushed mint leaves.

  
Kris buries his face in his hands, the metal studs on his wrist cold like ice against his chin, and doesn't cry. He is ice, he is rock, he is a perfect marble statue standing on parade and he will not shame Adam. Not any more than he already has.

  
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck Cowell with his perfectly rectangular head and his ability to appraise Kris in one glance and find him completely and utterly without merit. Kris is nowhere near as good a dancer as Tommy. He isn't as comfortable in his own skin as Cassidy. He is far less attractive than Brad. What could Adam possibly see in him?

  
When Kris swallowed the criticism and mentioned that he sang, Cowell had somehow managed to convince him to sing a few bars and Kris had been nervous and tired but it was still _good_ and he still knew it was good but Cowell just raised those fucking eyebrows and said, casual as anything, "Danny was better."

  
Who the fuck was Danny anyway?

  
"You don't mind me being honest," Cowell said and Kris had wanted to shout 'yes, yes I mind you being honest. No, I don't want to know how perfect everyone is by virtue of not being me.'

  
"I suppose this is all they expect from consorts in the south, I just thought I should let you know that here they tend to have higher standards. More is expected from the crown prince's consort than from some minor baron's pet whore."

  
There is a ceramic vase beside Kris's hand. He moves away, before he is tempted to snatch it up and smash it into fragments on the paving slabs.

  
"I am sure you have no patience with us old court fools," Cowell had said, patting Kris on the shoulder as though they were old friends. "It is in everyone's best interests for Adam to tire of you quickly, it won't be too hard for him to find someone to take you off his hands. I'm sure several of the city brothels would be happy to welcome you. Ah, is that Lady Abdul I see, well I simply must ask her for a dance. Give my regards to the prince."

  
Kris presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, they come away slight damp and marked with black where his eyeliner has smudged across his skin. Fuck, he thinks then, screw it. "Fuck!"

  
He scrapes his hands against the banister, wondering how badly he has smudged his make up and how obvious it will be that he's been crying and how much Adam is going to hate him for disobeying and bringing shame to the household and not being good enough.

  
"Kris? Baby, is that you?"

  
Surely no one else could look this pathetic and useless, even from behind. "My Prince," Kris says, his voice catching in his throat and coming out barely higher than a whisper. "I just needed a moment to compose myself. If you return to your party, I will be at your side momentarily."

  
There is a slight chink, like a glass being placed down on a hard surface, then Adam's arms wrap around Kris's waist, his body a warm reassuring weight against Kris's back. "Allison said you were cornered by Lord Cowell. I thought I should come and see that you're okay."

  
"I'm very well, my prince. It will just take me a moment to—" Adam buries his face against Kris's shoulder and all Kris can hear is 'It is in everyone's best interests for the prince to tire of you quickly.' His voice breaks on in a rough, unintended sob.

  
Adam takes half a step back and for a moment Kris thinks he's leaving, then he spins Kris round gently, placing two fingers beneath his chin to tilt Kris's tearstained face up. "Oh baby," he breathed, brushing at Kris's cheek with one thumb, his skin coming away stained back. "Oh Kris, honey, don't. What did he say?"

  
Part of Kris wishes Adam would leave, a larger part wishes he would put his arms round Kris again and hold him until everything is okay. He forces himself to stand tall and hold back the hot, shameful tears. "The usual," he says, trying to make it casual. "Everyone is better than me. You should just sell me to someone else to avoid any further shame on your family."

  
Adam reaches up to cup his cheek in one hand. "You haven't shamed anyone, Kris, and you're not going to. Everyone else here thinks you're positively charming. Does what Cowell thinks really matter to you that much?"

  
"No," Kris says, confusion briefly wiping everything else from his mind. Adam looks surprised at his answer, which is strange. Kris bites his lip and tries to explain simply for Adam to understand. "It doesn't matter what Lord Cowell thinks. It matters what you think."

  
Adam goes still for a moment. "Really?"

  
"Of course." He frowns. "I don't... you're my prince, not him. You're the one who matters, you're the one I want to make happy." Adam is watching him with an adoring and slightly awed expression. Kris can feel himself turning red as he realises maybe this isn't how they do things in the North. "Am I being overly southern, my prince?"

  
"You are." Adam smiles, sliding his free arm around Kris's waist. "But I like it."

  
"I don't know what I'm doing," Kris admits, as Adam licks his thumb and starts wiping the makeup smudges off his face. "I just... I don't understand court policies anyway and there's so much to learn and I'm constantly worried I'm going to do something wrong and you already hate me so it won't take much to push you over the edge."

  
It is Adam's turn to frown. "I don't hate you. Why did you think I hated you?"

  
Kris had been under the impression that it was obvious. "You avoided me all day today," he offers, even though the real answer is more like 'because everything Cowell said is true.'

  
I thought... I thought if I kept my distance today you would be happier. You won't tell me what you want and I don't know how to deal with you or how to make this okay between us," he stops. "I was going to send Monte to get your guitar."

  
It is the last thing in the world Kris expected to hear. "Why?" he asks, like an idiot.

  
"Because—" Adam begins with force then falters, taking half a step back and dragging a hand through his hair, sending a fortune in dust and feathers cascading to the floor. "Because you want it?" he says, going up at the like a question, like he isn't sure himself. "Because I want to do something so you'll stop looking at me like a total stranger."

  
"You could tell me to," Kris reminds him, not at all sure where this conversation is going. "I have to do what you tell me, remember."

  
"And what if I want you to be genuine? What if I want to do what you want? How do I go about commanding you to tell me what to do?"

  
Kris twists his hands together behind his back and blushes pink again, fighting down the urge to remind Adam that this isn't how it works. Adam does what Adam wants. Kris does what Adam wants. Everyone tries to make Adam happy and if Kris succeeds then he's doing something right and that's supposed to be all he wants (and occasionally he fails at that but only because he's not trying hard enough or because he's tired and homesick and Adam is giving off mixed signals). "I don't know, my prince," he says helplessly, staring at Adam's snakeskin boots.

  
"Oh, not this again." Adam steps back in, tilting Kris's head upwards. "For a moment I thought we were getting somewhere."

  
Kris swallows. "What do you want?" he asks.

  
"I want to kiss you," Adam says, as though it should be obvious. "But last time we kissed you ran away and I don't want to kiss someone who doesn't want to kiss me back."

  
"I want to kiss you back. That was just my first kiss and you surprised me but—"

  
He is cut off by Adam's finger on his lips. His prince has clearly been at the buffet table, his skin smells of strawberries and fresh cream. "That wasn't your first kiss," Adam says firmly.

  
Kris goes for a joking smile and doesn't quite pull it off. "I think I would know. No one's ever kissed me before."

  
Adam shakes his head. "No, that wasn't your first kiss. It never happened. We're going to strike it from the record."

  
"Why?"

  
"So I can do this." Adam curls his fingers around Kris's neck and leans in. There is no urgency this time, just the soft touch of his lips and then his arm snaking round Kris's waist.

  
Adam is warm and large and when his lips slide apart Kris opens his mouth a little too, letting Adam's tongue explore the inside of his mouth. Adam has definitely been at both the buffet table and the wine. He tastes of fruit and heat and he sucks on Kris's lower lip and pulls away slowly far too soon. "There," he says softly, pressing another chaste kiss at the side of Kris's mouth. "Now that was your first."

  
Kris swallows, trembling a little in Adam's arms. "Can you do that?" he asks shakily.

  
"I'm the prince," Adam reminds him. "I can do anything." He smiles, sliding his hand down to clasp Kris's. "Dance with me?"

  
Kris is sure there is none of his face that isn't bright red. "Tommy made me promise I would only dance once," he says weakly.

  
Adam leans in to whisper, his lips brushing Kris's ear and Kris knows how those lips taste. "Then we will dance out here, where Tommy can't see."

  
"My prince," Kris murmurs.

  
"Adam." He pulls Kris close as inside the band start playing a slow rhythm.

  
"Adam," Kris agrees, and lets himself be tugged into the dance.

Thirteen  
Kris wakes up with Adam curled around him like the biggest, warmest hot water bottle and thinks he could probably get used to it. Adam's breath is soft and steady against the back of his neck, his arms wrapped loosely around Kris's chest and his hair tickling lightly the area under Kris's ear.

  
Adam is awake, Kris can tell because his breath is unsteady and he occasionally shifts position a little as though he's trying to get comfortable without waking Kris up. Kris is also awake now, but he has learnt over the years how to feign sleep without even trying and right now he is so warm and comfortable that there is no desire to move.

  
There is a knock on the door and he should pretend it wakes him up but he doesn't, he just lies still as Adam extracts himself as slowly and carefully as possible, pausing to drop a kiss on Kris's shoulder. Kris must move a little because Adam strokes his hair soothingly. "Sleep," he murmurs. "It's fine, baby."

  
Kris settles back, but Adam's hand still lingers for a moment."I wish—" he says, but is interrupted by another knock on the door and then his reassuring weight and warmth is gone.

  
Kris cracks open one eye a little to watch Adam walk to the door. Adam is still shirtless, freckles scattered across his skin and Kris wants to kiss every single one, wants to know how they taste. He wants Adam to kiss him again and he sends a silent prayer of thanks to the fates who gave Adam an impossible winning hand.

  
"Mother?"

  
Adam's mother glances into the room. "We need to talk."

  
"Of course." Adam looks back at Kris, then ushers her outside. Kris's impression of a sleeper must be adequate though, because he leaves the door wide open and though he speaks in a low voice Kris can still hear every word. "I can explain—"

  
"Explain why you left your own party several hours early, sending your manservant to tell me that you had a headache and would be retiring without making a single farewell or even attempt at a dignified exit? I suppose you will also explain why you felt the need to take your consort with you as opposed to leaving him to socialise with the high society with whom he must soon become acquainted and perhaps you would also like to mention why you did not give him time to speak with anyone other than yourself all evening. Lord Cowell tells me he had to wait until you had departed to even get a chance for a conversation."

  
Adam is silent for a moment, as though trying to process exactly how annoyed the queen is. Kris burrows under the covers and waits for someone to come in and tell him he's being sold and he's going to travel miles and be kept like a pet and forced to do whatever consorts normally do and he will never get to kiss Adam again.

  
"I," he starts, then stops. "Kris had a headache. He's only been here two days so I thought—"

  
"He is supposed to be a professional, Adam. I know you bought Brad from some back alley dealer and that was fine, people cut him some slack. Kris does not have that luxury." She gives a sigh that even Kris can hear. "If he had a headache, you should have sent him back to your rooms and remained at the party to make apologies for him. Both of you disappearing at the same time, it sends the wrong message, Adam. This is exactly how it all started last time and we cannot afford another situation like that one."

  
"I know," Adam says. "I know, and nothing like that is going to happen. I promised you and I'll keep my distance and Kris is a professional, like you said, so nothing is going to happen there."

  
"We want you to be happy," she says. "We do, but we have a kingdom to think of. You have a kingdom to think of."

  
"I know. Is that all?"

  
She sighs again. "There is a feast at Lord Jackson's estate at the end of the week. I suggest you ascertain your consort's health earlier in the evening and if he looks to be coming down with a headache you invite someone else."

  
"Kris will be fine."

  
They exchange pleasantries, as Kris sits up in bed and waits for Adam to return. Adam glances at him, then shuts the door. "Morning," he says, a small smile touching his lips.

  
"What was that?" Kris asks.

  
Adam glances at the door then sighs, running a hand through his hair and sitting on the bed. "Just my mom." He holds out an arm and Kris doesn't hesitate before crawling under it, pressing against Adam's side as Adam drapes an arm around his shoulders. "The usual 'disgrace to the family name, when will you grow up' thing."

  
"Sorry," Kris says, and Adam laughs.

  
"Not you, baby. No, she thinks you're charming. She thinks I'm going to... well, I made a mistake in the past and she's worried I'll do it again."

  
"Does it involve me?"

  
Adam laughs again and kisses his nose. "Don't worry about it. The only thing you need to do at the moment is keep being amazing and perfect and learn how to present yourself at a formal meal by Friday."

  
Kris can feel himself blushing a little. "I'm not sure I can do amazing and perfect."

  
Adam squeezes him tighter. "I think what you need to worry about is the formal meal. Even I forget all forty pieces of cutlery sometimes, and Tommy won't stop until we're both perfect."

  
Kris smiles. "Just don't ask me to dance."

  
"I would ask you to dance every day and every night if I could." Adam tilts his head to look at Kris and smile. "Although maybe not in public. I want to teach you to tango."

  
"What's a tango like?"

  
"It's the dance of love." Adam leans in to kiss him again and they both have morning breath and the angle is awkward and it is just as good as Kris remembers, if not better. "Could you be any more perfect?" Adam asks.

  
"I could try a northern accent," Kris offers.

  
"Don't you dare," Adam says, and kisses him again and again and his freckles taste of skin and heat and Adam.

  
Maybe this whole consort thing isn't so bad.

Fourteen  
"In future," Tommy says from the doorway. "I will knock."

  
Kris doesn't want to move, but Adam is already extracting himself and glancing around to where Tommy is carefully examining the doorway.

  
"Under any normal circumstance," he says to the wooden frame. "I would leave you two to get on with it. But your mother has just informed me that Kris has to be formal-dinner ready in four days."

  
Adam swears softly and pulls away, doing up Kris's shirt with deft fingers that should definitely be somewhere else doing something else. Kris lets out a small whine which probably sounds pathetic but if Adam didn't tease so much they would have been done by now and he wouldn't have a hard on straining his pants and Adam wouldn't be _getting up_.

  
Kris grabs at Adam's hand. "I show up, I eat, we go home."

  
Adam laughs and bends down to kiss his cheek. "It's a little more complicated than that, baby."

  
Kris bites his lip and tries to make his eyes wide. "Five more minutes?"

  
Adam looks torn for a moment, eyes flicking from Tommy to Kris and back again. "I was going to draw it out," he says slowly, then he is pushing Kris back against the bed and his tongue licks carefully around the inside of Kris's mouth. "But I could be persuaded."

  
The buttons break this time and somewhere in the distance Kris hears Tommy say "I'll just go then."

  
Then there is just heat and warmth and _Adam._

*

It is nice to know that sometimes Adam's hair looks less than perfect. When Tommy comes again (an hour later, since apparently he knows Adam too well) Kris is lying in Adam's arms, Adam's fingers tracing across his face and through his hair while Kris feels satisfied at the fact that Adam looks like he has just had a night of rough sex, hair sticking wildly in all directions.

  
It's a look that works for him, which is annoying but also amazing because he is gorgeous and beautiful and the sex is amazing.

  
"Five more minutes," Adam says, brushing his face against Kris's skin.

  
"Fuck off," says Tommy. "Kris, get out of that fucking bed or I swear I will kill you."

  
"Don't move," Adam murmurs.

  
"My prince," Kris agrees.

  
"Adam, get out of that fucking bed or I swear I will find your mother and start telling her the very interesting story I like to call 'What Adam Got Up To On Our Glorious Trip South'."

  
Adam rolls away from Kris onto his back, pouting a little. "Fine," he says. "Kris, go stare at cutlery and try not to fall asleep."

  
It doesn't sound like he means it. In this situation, Kris has no idea if he's supposed to do what Adam wants or what Adam tells him. "My prince? I can stay if you ask me—"

  
"Just get up," Tommy advises. "No one sent out a menu. Do you know how many meals they could offer? How many different combinations of food? No, of course you don't. I have seen you eat and I don't think you even know what a fork is."

  
Adam pushes Kris lightly towards the edge of the bed. "Go on," he says. "He'll only get bitchier the more we ignore him."

  
"Don't you have a court to attend _, my prince_ ," Tommy remarks loudly, somehow turning 'my prince' into an insult. As soon as Kris is even vaguely vertical Tommy throws a pile of clothes at him, and doesn't even make an effort to turn around while he gets dressed. "Also, Monte wants to know if he is still expected to ride a horse to exhaustion and waste everyone's time and money travelling south to pick up a few planks of wood and some wire."

  
Kris glances back at the same time as Adam looks up and for a moment they look into each other's eyes. "Well?" Adam asks quietly. "Do you want it?"

  
Cook, Archie and Simon all paid for it too. Kris is living in the lap of luxury, Adam would probably buy him all the guitars he wanted if he asked. He thinks about Cook sitting by the fire with the battered old thing while Archie sings and—sure—they would have let him take it, but it's all they have. "No," he says. "No, it's fine. It can stay where it is."

  
Adam nods, smiling a little and he reaches out for Kris's hand, pulling it close to kiss the back and the palm and each individual finger. "Thank you."

  
"You could set me free," Kris jokes. "And I could go get it myself."

  
Adam's hand tightens enough to hurt and for a moment Kris thinks he's going to be pulled back onto the bed. For a moment Adam's eyes are dark and dangerous and Kris isn't sure he wants to be close.

  
Then the moment passes and Adam is smiling and laughing. "You're not going anywhere," he says, brushing his lips across Kris's skin again and there was nothing there, really. Nothing to be afraid of.

  
"Come on," Tommy grabs his free arm, tugging him out of Adam's grip. "There are at least forty pieces of cutlery to memorize, ten weeks worth of dining etiquette to learn and LP wants you to know at least one variation on the waltz. We need to start. We needed to start hours ago."

  
Kris casts one look back at Adam, who is watching him with a faintly possessive look in his eye, then lets Tommy drag him out.

Fifteen  
"What is it with you and leather pants?"

  
Adam glances over as he holds out a hand to help Kris out the carriage. "They make your ass look even more amazing than normal," he offers, tugging Kris down the last step into a loose hug accompanied by a casual kiss which quickly turns into a less casual kiss and at any moment Kris is going to split the ass-hugging leather pants.

  
"They're hard to get out of," he reminds Adam.

  
"Well," Adam drags a finger slowly across the skin just under the waistline. "I'll just have to make sure I wait until the end of the night before tearing them off."

  
"And with that lovely piece of imagery that I could've lived without, let's go inside."

  
"You do know it isn't compulsory to take Tommy everywhere, right?" Kris asks, watching the blond climb down from the carriage and stare at them with long suffering eyes.

  
"He seems inclined to act as my babysitter," Adam remarks, loud enough for Tommy to hear. "I'm still not sure if he's hired by me or my mother or both." He does pull away though, leaving one hand against Kris's hip to lead him towards the main doors. "I don't even know what his job is, I used to think maybe I give him money to stand there and glare at me but if that's his job, you must be paying him too."

  
Kris laughs and rests his head on Adam's arm. It's a relief to remember that he can stay by Adam's side all night. He had fears that consorts would be expected to eat in the back hall—where all the slaves eat—but Tommy put those to rest quickly. Kris sits at the table beside Adam, in the same position as a partner, a paid companion or a servant acting as an escort.

  
Apparently it is difficult to define a consort's rank, which is why there are so many different social protocols that Kris has to learn. On the one hand, a consort and their master are symbolically one which means in Adam's absence, Kris can speak for the prince. On the other hand, a consort is still a slave which puts them right down the other end of the pecking order.

  
"Worrying?" Adam says, because he is psychic. "Just try not to eat soup with a fork and I'm sure you'll be fine."

  
Kris grins. "Eat soup with a knife. Right. Got it."

  
"You can't tell," Tommy interrupts. "Because I'm walking behind you, but if looks could kill this conversation would already be over."

*

The other thing 'symbolically one' means is that Kris doesn't get his own expansive set of plates and cutlery. Partners get a full set, paid companions get a slightly limited arrangement, servants get a very simple set up that Kris would appreciate very much. Instead, Kris gets a slightly larger seat which is shared with Adam and he is expected to eat off Adam's plate.

  
After Adam is finished, of course. It's all very demeaning and Tommy was quick to remind Kris that if Adam is hungry, he won't get to eat at all and, as much as that would be easier, Kris hasn't eaten since lunch time and has spent the whole afternoon trying to learn small talk from a series of progressively worse scripts.

  
"Stop thinking so much," Adam says, looping an arm around his shoulders and pushing an entire chicken leg to one side of his plate. "You're making me nervous."

  
"There's a spoon with prongs. What's that for?"

  
"I could think of a few things." Adam's second hand slides across his thigh and Tommy definitely did not prepare Kris for what would happen when he wanted to drag Adam off into a small closet halfway through dinner. "I'm done. Use the same cutlery I did, makes the whole thing so much easier."

  
"You don't think people will mind?"

  
Adam laughs, and they are so close Kris can feel it echo through his body. "Do I think people will mind us sharing saliva? You know, for some reason I almost think they'll expect it." He kisses Kris lightly then turns to talk to his neighbour while Kris attempts to eat without opening his mouth or touching the table or—heavens forbid—jostling Adam in the slightest.

  
When he finishes, Adam is still talking and Kris isn't sure where he stands on the front of disturbing him so he turns instead to see a pretty blonde woman in a soft blue dress sitting on his other side. She is frowning at him, but stops quickly when she realises he's looking. "I apologise," she says quickly, in the soft polite tones that Kris has been failing to mimic for a week. "I don't believe we have been introduced."

  
Kris is fairly sure they haven't, but her face still looks familiar. He remembers, at the last moment, to incline his head politely and hold out one hand. "Kris, consort to the crown prince."

  
Her mouth opens very slightly in surprise, then she closes it again and smiles carefully. "How strange, I was just thinking how you reminded me of someone I knew, and you share his name as well." She drops a polite kiss onto his knuckles. "Katy O'Connell, daughter of the duke of Conway."

  
Kris almost lets his own mouth drop open, but Adam's solid weight next to him reminds him to stay calm and polite. She's grown up a lot—of course she has, he has too—but she's still beautiful and she still has the same smile. "Conway, you say," he says, trying to think of something mundane to say and only coming up with the set emotionless phrases of Tommy's fucking scripts. "I hear it's a beautiful place."

  
"You've never been?" She releases his hand and doesn't stop smiling. "It's beautiful when the flowers start coming out, I must arrange an invitation for the prince." She turns her head to the man on her other side. From what Kris can see of his place settings, he is just a servant. "Cale, remind me to invite the prince to Conway this spring."

  
"Milady," Cale says.

  
Katy turns quickly back to Kris. "Oh, I do hope you come. You remind me so much of someone I knew when I was small."

  
That catches Adam's attention and he turns, resting his head on Kris's shoulder. "You know the duke of Conway, Kris? Do I want to know how?"

  
Katy laughs and inclines her head prettily. "My prince," she says. "I was simply remarking on how similar you consort is to a slave I used to own. My first one, in fact, I believe my parents bought him to be a friend to me when I was very young."

  
Adam's hand tightens slightly on Kris's waist. "How young?"

  
"Oh," she brushes the question off with a wave. "Five or six, something like that, so there's no way he could be a consort now. It's just one of those funny coincidences and it's lucky it happened because Kris was just reminding me that we haven't had you down in Conway for an age now, my prince."

  
"I would love to see it again," Adam says, but he sounds distracted and turns quickly back to his meal and then his previous conversation.

  
Kris talks to Katy for a while, then Adam drags him into the conversation on his other side and it isn't until the tables are being pushed aside to clear an area for dancing that Kris thinks to look for her.

  
"I see Allison." Adam drops a kiss on his shoulder. "You know how to mingle, right?"

  
Kris nods, turns his head to kiss Adam back, and goes to find his old mistress.

Sixteen  
Because Kris has the worst luck in the world, it isn't Katy he runs into as he crosses towards the small crowd. Instead, Lord Cowell is the one who steps forwards and inclines his head.

  
Kris bows, lets Cowell kiss the back of his hand and wishes he had the authority to walk away. "Lord Cowell," he says. "I wasn't aware you were coming tonight."

  
Cowell doesn't release his hand. "A last minute change of plans. You're also still in our midst, what a charming level of dedication."

  
Kris wishes Adam had left more wine. His insides are crawling after barely a minute in Cowell's company. "I am finding this position perfectly suited to me," he says, hoping it translates as 'back off, he's mine and anyway I'm falling in love with him so there is no way you're making me go anywhere.'

  
"Well I am sure, you are settling in wonderfully. May I ask who makes your outfits?"

  
"Cassidy Haley," Kris provides, smiling a little as the thought of Cassidy's grin. "The same person who tailors for my prince, I believe."

  
"Of course, of course," Cowell gushes. "Yes, Brad always thought very highly of master Haley's work. I believe that is the reason Adam started to use him exclusively, though of course you would know more about that than myself."

  
Cowell does not believe in following any of Tommy's perfectly prepared scripts, and Kris is certain that he does not want to mention his complete lack of any knowledge of Brad to this particular gentleman. "I believe Cassidy has outdone himself tonight," he says instead, bland, uninteresting and completely untrue. Adam's outfit at the ball was far better than the dark coat and silver circlet he is wearing now.

  
"May I ask you for a dance tonight," Cowell asks. "Or has your prince specifically commanded you not to engage without his express consent?"

  
Kris knows enough of court language to tell when he is being mocked. "You may ask, Lord Cowell, but I am not sure how successful your request will be."

  
Tommy was very clear on the fact that Kris is allowed to turn down dance partners. He was also very clear on the fact that Kris should definitely turn down all dance partners.

  
Cowell's eyes darken a little. "I'm afraid we have gotten off on the wrong footing, Kris. I fear I have offended you in some way."

  
Kris draws himself up to his full—and distinctly unimpressive—height. "If you mean to say that calling me unworthy and inferior may have been insulting, I fear you are right. I have seen the number of proposals that my prince has received and it is no small number. He still chose me, and he continues to choose me over all your more suitable candidates... my lord."

  
Cowell laughs, a low unpleasant sound. "Of course," he says softly. "After all, you're the only person who doesn't have the option of leaving." He lets Kris's hand fall, taking half a step back. "You are on treacherous ground, Kris, and I am not sure your prince is quite the saint you believe him to be. Good day."

  
He leaves before Kris can find his tongue to answer.

*

He wants to be independent, he does, but all thoughts of conversation with Katy have been wiped from his head and all he can think is how much he wants to find Adam. He wants Adam to do the same thing he did last time, tell him that Cowell is ridiculous and none of it matters.

  
He wants Adam to tell him all the real reasons that he keeps Kris and he wants to know that Adam loves him back. Because surely he must.

  
He finds Adam and Allison talking together in a small alcove at the very edge of the great hall and is about to go over before he hears his name mentioned.

  
He knows spying is wrong and Adam would want him there and all those other things that make him a useless slave and a terrible person but he needs reassurance, so he slips behind the curtain and listens in.

  
"Gorgeous," Adam is saying, and Kris feels a small thrill of delight run through him. "He has that whole 'cute' thing going and you're so distracted by that you don't really realise. Then you look at him properly and it's like 'woah, totally hot.'"

  
"Be careful," Allison laughs. "I might have to take him from you."

  
Adam laughs with her. "There is no way I am selling him." Kris feels a surge of pride, in himself and also in Adam for not giving away all the other reasons behind his not-selling of Kris. "He does this thing with his tongue and I do not think I can live without him in my life."

  
There is a slight thud as though Allison has hit Adam. They seem like good friends, and for a moment Kris wishes he could pull back the curtain and join them. He wishes they were a trio of friends, wishes he could sit and laugh with them.

  
"So," Allison says. "How did you get him? Because I was talking with Lil and she does _not_ believe that anyone would sell you an ass that fine. Did you sneak in and romance him in the middle of the night? Did you steal him? Did you offer half your kingdom and your daughter's hand in marriage?"

  
Adam hits her this time, laughing as he does so. "You would not believe what I offered," he says, and Kris smiles a little because it's like a shared secret that Adam didn't have to offer anything. "I hadn't even spoken to him, just seen him from a distance, and I must have promised his owner half the treasury. I don't think that the man actually believed me, or maybe he was just really attached."

  
"That tongue thing must be pretty damn amazing."

  
Kris almost laughs, and definitely blushes.

  
"So you failed to buy him," Allison prompts. "You stole him in the dead of night?"

  
Kris sees Adam's boots beneath the curtain, as though he is leaning back in triumph. "I won him," he says. "In a game of poker."

  
Fate, Kris thinks. Fate, luck, chance. Call it what you will, it was in that room on that day bringing them together.

  
"Did you cheat?"

  
Kris almost laughs at that one too, and Adam definitely laughs because it's ridiculous. Luck brought them together. Luck and chance and Kris couldn't be more thankful.

  
Then the bottom drops out of everything.

  
"Of course," Adam says, easy as anything. "You think I'd leave a guy like that to chance? No way, that game was fixed from the beginning and it was still a fucking fight. In the end, Kris almost had to bet himself the guy was so desperate to keep him." He laughs again, in an unpleasant satisfied sort of way. "But I got him in the end."

  
Allison laughs with him. "You sneaky fucker," she exclaims, but it sounds like a compliment. She has no idea that Adam has just confessed to waltzing in and intentionally changing Kris's life without asking or paying or caring at all. "Well he's amazing, so well done you." Kris isn't sure he can move.

  
"My thanks."

  
"I suppose I should go mingle with the gentry," Allison said, making it sound as though the prospect was about as exciting to her as it was to Kris. "I bet Simon tries to dance with me again so he has plenty of time to insult my dress and my hair and my shoes."

  
"Don't forget your inappropriate friendship with the gay prince."

  
"Save me." Allison laughs and Kris hears her drop a kiss on Adam's cheek. "Come find me when you're done being lazy? You owe me a dance." She disappears off onto the dance floor somewhere.

  
Kris stands still for a long moment, listening to Adam breathing and occasionally laughing a little to himself. He should draw back the curtain, he should say something.

  
All he can think is that there is no way Adam is the person Kris thought he was.

  
And that hurts more than he wants to admit.

Seventeen  
Adam leaves before Kris can work out what he wants to say. Someone from the party that Kris doesn't recognise stumbles over to grab Adam's hand. "They want a song," the stranger says, laughing, drunk and happy. "You have to sing a song."

  
Kris uses the distraction to peek through the curtain, he sees Adam smile and let himself be dragged to his feet. "A song, Danielle? Well, I'm sure I could rustle something up since you asked so very nicely." He slid an arm around the woman's shoulders and walked towards the dance floor; hips rolling, laugh echoing and oh so beautiful.

  
Kris slides backwards, coming out from behind the curtain in the shadows at the back of the room where he can watch Adam walk through the dance floor—couples parting before him like the sea—and pull himself up onto the low stage.

  
He glances at the band, then waves to the side of the room and Tommy steps forwards, taking the instrument from one of the men on stage and sliding the strap over his shoulder. He tosses his blond hair casually, tracing hid fingers across the instrument's strings.

  
The song Adam has chosen has a thumping beat. Katy's slave—Cale—has replaced the lead guitarist on the stage and Adam high-fives him before throwing himself into the verse.

  
" _I want your body, mind, soul, etcetera,"_ Adam sings, and he's staring straight ahead but Kris still imagines his prince is staring straight at him. Adam's voice is just as amazing as he remembers, his head tilted back in the lights and his hips rolling with the beat. " _And I don't want anyone instead of ya, oh babe I'm going crazy."_

  
Kris wonders when in the last four days Adam had time to write a song, but then when the words flow Kris himself has been known to write one in barely an afternoon, so maybe it isn't all that unusual.

  
" _You make me wanna listen to music again,"_ Adam sings, and it sounds so personal, so _intimate_ that he must be watching Kris. " _You make me wanna listen to music again."_ It sounds like sex, fierce and beautiful all night long.

  
Allison comes up beside Kris, bouncing a little to the music, red hair flying up and down. "Hey there," she says happily, forcing Kris to turn away from Adam briefly and give her the shortest bow in history. He holds out a hand to her, but she ignores it in favour of giving him a hug that is so unexpected he doesn't have time to react before she's pulling away. "I wasn't sure if I was going to see you at all," she says happily. "It seemed like every time I looked for you, you'd gone and we didn't get a chance to talk at the ball. I'm Allison and if you try to call me anything else—" she folded her arms as though the punishment would be very severe "- we will not be friends."

  
On the stage, Adam is singing something about having ties. Kris wonders if maybe his prince could be persuaded to send some money to Simon.

  
Allison looks in the direction his eyes are pointing. "He's good, isn't he," she says. "This is one of my favourites of his, I think. Most of his best songs came from that time."

  
"What time?" Kris asks, without thinking.

  
"Brad," she says. "This song was definitely about Brad."

  
Up on stage Adam laughs and grinds backwards against Tommy and kisses Cale on the cheek. "You make me want to listen to music again," he finishes and he isn't looking at anyone, just staring at the crowd and thinking about the person who isn't here with him.

  
"So," Allison says. "You're not the most talkative of Adam's consorts."

  
Kris steps back and bows, trying not to do anything stupid or insulting because he still has to be a good consort even though Adam is a cheater and a liar and still madly in love with someone else. "Excuse me, Lady Iraheta. I must go speak with my prince."

*

He catches Adam by the side of the stage, Tommy and Cale are returning instruments and saying something about music that sounds vaguely interesting but Kris is distracted by Adam, taking a towel from a servant and rubbing it across the back of his neck. He doesn't look happy. There is a smile on his lips but sorrow and regret battle in his eyes. He is turning to head back to the main party when he sees Kris, Tommy and Cale are already walking past together, heading for the nearest bottle of wine.

  
"Hey baby," Adam says, his smile fading a little. "What do you want?"

  
Kris has wanted a thousand things in the last few minutes. He's wanted money, sex, peace, to be loved, to be set free, to be left alone. "I want to matter."

  
Adam lets the towel fall and reaches for Kris instead, touching his cheek with soft fingers. "What?" he asks, politely bemused, the court smile back in place reaching all the way to his eyes. "Have I left you bereft for too long, I suppose I could find it in my heart to give you a dance."

  
Kris is supposed to laugh. He doesn't, instead he says "I've been thinking about the palace dogs."

  
Adam glances over his shoulder at the people on the dance floor, very close. "Kris, baby, I'm not sure what you're looking for here but we need to get back to the party."

  
"There's a servant who washes them, feeds them and ties bows around their necks. The queen plays with them when she's bored then sends them away." Kris looks up into Adam's confused face. "I figure I'm pretty much your dog."

  
"Oh." Adam stops looking at the dance floor and focuses on him, touching his face, brushing fingers through his hair and wrapping an arm around his waist. "You think I've been ignoring you." He leans in to kiss Kris lightly, his tongue brushing Kris's lips. "I don't mean to, baby. We can spend more time together, that's fine."

  
A large part of Kris wants to close his eyes and go with it, wants to take the promise of more time with Adam and let himself be dragged back to the party. A large part of Kris wants to pretend Adam isn't a liar and a cheat and in love with someone else.

  
He focuses on the thought of David and Archie split up, or curled together at the side of some road somewhere without a home. Archie singing 'when you believe' his voice breaking as he shivers.

  
"Simon couldn't really afford to keep three slaves," he says softly. "He probably couldn't afford two, he just didn't want to sell any of us on. The money you won was probably all he had to feed them for the next year, he probably lost the house and maybe he lost David and Archie, maybe they got sold to two strangers and they'll never get to see each other again." He stares at the ground so he doesn't have to see Adam's face. "They were in love, I think you understand love. I just... I don't understand how you could do that for a pretty face." He looks up. "Do you love me?"

  
For a moment Adam looks like he isn't sure what to say. It occurs to Kris—too late—that maybe he wouldn't know if Adam lied to him. "I think you're amazing," he says, which might be true but still means 'no.'

  
"Right," says Kris to fill the silence, wondering what he's done wrong and how to make it better and wishing he could be one of those people who didn't care about making it better. "Good to know. Do you still love Brad?"

  
"Kris, baby," Adam isn't even looking at him, he's busy staring at the crowds of people over Kris's shoulder. "Can we not do this now?"

  
Of course. He's one wrong word away from causing a scene and he couldn't possibly show up Adam in front of all these people. "Okay," he says. "I'll just wait until all these strangers are gone and you can do whatever the fuck you like and we can talk then. Or maybe I'll just wait until you find consort number three or four or whatever number you're on now and then while I'm packing my bags we can discuss this."

  
"Kara's coming this way," Adam is looking at something over Kris's head and his fingers on Kris's hip are tight enough to hurt. "We will discuss this later, baby, I promise but right now I need you to do your fucking job."

  
Tommy ranks being able to dance, bow and eat politely as the top three things a consort needs to know. Kris thinks number one, blowing all those out of the water, is knowing how to smile when all you want to do is cry.

  
And it turns out he can do that. He can smile, laugh, clutch Adam's arm, tilt his head for a kiss. He should be the best fucking consort in the world.

Eighteen  
Kris wants to curl up in a corner alone and Adam apparently doesn't want to run the risk of letting him out of his sight. This means Kris spends the rest of the night hanging off Adam's arm, laughing at terrible jokes and offering up passive aggressive statements such as "Well, I've certainly never been consort to anyone better" or "Fortunately, they train consorts not to fall in love."

  
Adam's fingers dig painfully into his side and whenever they aren't engaged in conversation he steals kisses like they might run out at any moment.

  
"Kris," Katy says, approaching them with a wide smile that dies a little when Kris fails to meet her eyes. She turns professionally to drop a curtsey at Adam. "Prince Lambert, I must admit I was blown away by your performance."

  
Adam smiles, fingers driving into what must surely be bruises on Kris's side. "My thanks, your servant is quite the guitarist."

  
"Cale is hoping to be sold as a minstrel," Katy explains. "I'm fairly sure the music is the only reason he agreed to accompany me here without so much as a plan or a place to stay."

  
Kris tugs his eyes away from Adam. "You haven't got anywhere to stay?" he asks, remembering at the last minute to add "My lady."

  
"Oh, call me Katy, please. I feel like we've known each other forever." She has a beautiful smile, Kris can't help noticing. A beautiful, honest smile. "And no, sadly not. We were invited to the ball at such short notice, and coming here was something of a last minute decision that there was no time to send word to my relatives in the city so naturally they are away this week."

  
"You should stay in the castle," Kris says, and it was only meant to be a suggestion to Adam but he remembers too late what Tommy was saying about a consort being able to speak for their owner.

  
"Oh!" Katy springs forward to hug him. Her hair smells of apples and Kris isn't sure where to put his hands and he is suddenly having horrible flashbacks to the last time he got this close to Katy O'Connell. "You are so kind, that would be amazing, thank you so much."

  
There is a sour expression on Adam's face that Kris tries to ignore. "Of course," his prince says. "We will find you when our carriage is due to leave, you must travel back with us. Now, I do believe I must take my consort for a dance."

  
The music playing is not in ¾ time. Kris assumes this is his punishment for acting out. "I can't believe people just come down here and assume I'll give them a room," Adam says, spinning Kris casually with one hand and apparently forgetting he did the exact same thing to Simon barely a week ago. "She was angling for it. If you hadn't offered, I would have had to."

  
"The castle has plenty of rooms."

  
"It also has standards," Adam frowns a little down at him. "Don't invite anyone else home without asking me first." Then he is all smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. "Are you holding up okay?"

  
Kris looks around at the crowds of people who are close enough to hear everything and aren't allowed to hear the argument that would happen if he was to explain all the ways in which he is not holding up okay. "I thought we were discussing this later."

  
"So you're still—" he stops, apparently unable to vocalise that Kris is still annoyed/angry/upset/disappointed. "Do you think maybe—"

  
"My job is to smile and laugh and make you happy," Kris says. "Let's stop pretending that anything else is happening here."

*

"So," Kris says, standing in the doorway of the room and watching as Adam throws his coat over a chair and kicks his boots off hard enough to send them skidding across the room. "Can we talk?"

  
Katy sat with them in the carriage. Cale went up front with Tommy and Kris could hear them laughing as he sat, pressed up against Adam, and made awkward conversation about the weather and Conway. Thankfully, upon reaching the castle Adam had instructed Tommy to take Katy and Cale to their rooms. Tommy had hesitated, watching Kris for whatever reason, then obeyed his orders leaving Kris to follow Adam through the corridors and up the stairs to his prince's bedroom.

  
Adam drags a hand through his hair, pulling down from tonight's elaborate hair-swept-back look, so it falls in awkward sprayed clumps around his face. "I said later," he says roughly, snatching a brush off his dresser and attempting to remove the stiffness.

  
Kris swallows and spreads his arms to indicate the empty room. "It's later. No one's here. I just want to talk, Adam, because I don't understand what is happening and I thought I was in love—"

  
Adam throws the brush down so hard the mirrored table on the dresser cracks in two. "Later than this," he snaps, and Kris almost jumps out of his own skin because he's never heard Adam angry before.

  
Then his prince turns, all smiles and "shit, baby, sorry, I didn't mean it," and Kris takes half a step backwards and doesn't know what to do.

  
"Kris?" Adam beckons him closer a little and Kris takes half a step forward, letting the bedroom door swing shut behind him. "Kris, baby, you know I would never hurt you." He glances at his mirror and picks up a cloth from the low bowl of water. "Sing something for me?"

  
Kris coughs to clear his throat, and wonders if he'll even be able to sing. He doesn't want to, he wants to curl up somewhere on his own or he wants Adam to _talk_ to him but his prince is just looking into the mirror and wiping the makeup off his cheeks

  
" _Trying to be perfect, trying not to let you down_ ," The song should be sad but for some reason it's coming out angry. _"Honesty is honestly the hardest thing for me right now,_  
 _While the floors underneath our feet are crumbling, the walls we built together tumbling_  
 _I still stand here holding up the roof, because it's easier than telling the truth."_ He stops, watching Adam's back and doesn't know what to do now.

  
"Come over here, honey," Adam says, and then Kris knows what to do because all he has to do is the same thing he's done all his life.

  
He has to do what he's told, and that makes it easy to cross the room and let Adam pull him into an embrace and then up into his lap and he keeps his eyes off Adam's face while his prince carefully wipes the make-up off Kris's face. The cloth is warm, some faceless slave has heated the water in the bowl before taking it up to Adam's room.

  
Kris says "I love you," and Adam says "Shut up," and next thing they're on the bed and Adam is pushing his head back and biting desperately at his shoulders and his throat and Kris lets out a soft moan as Adam reaches for the stupid leather trousers to tug them off with a snarl and a tear.

  
Later—much later—Kris is tired and sore and Adam is still kissing his shoulders and it would be so easy to never say anything, to just let everything slide and keep this—whatever they had—forever.

  
"I can be better," he says, staring at his knees. "If that is the problem."

  
Adam wraps around him like the warmest, heartbreaking blanket. "Oh, Kris, Baby, that was never the problem. Don't think... this isn't about you."

  
Which is in some ways worse. Because he can't fix it.

Chapter 19  
Tommy remembers his promise to knock, but doesn't wait for an invitation before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Adam yawns sleepily at Kris's back and mumbles something about being too tired for this.

  
Kris has been awake for hours—he can't remember falling asleep, but surely it must have happened at some point—so it is his job to open his eyes and see Tommy standing in the doorway and watching him.

  
"Come on," the blond says. "I want to show you something."

  
Adam is waking up, arms shifting a little and he presses a sleepy morning kiss between Kris's shoulder blades.

  
Kris slides out of the embrace before Adam can tell him not to, pulls on a pair of loose trousers and a shirt that must be Adam's because he has to roll the sleeves up three times before he can find his hands.

  
"Kris-" Adam starts, from the bed.

  
Tommy steps back from the doorway and out into the corridors. Kris doesn't look back, just follows. "Is there more to learn?"

  
Tommy steps down a side passage that Kris would never even have noticed on his own. "There's always more to learn, kid, but that's not why I dragged you away from what I'm sure would've been some mind blowing morning sex."

  
It probably would've been. Kris glances over his shoulder even though the bedroom is out of sight and wishes he knew what he wanted. "You can't be that much older than me."

  
Tommy steps through a door carefully disguised as a terrible tapestry and into a corridor that looks identical to every single other corridor in this place. "What?"

  
"I have a name, you don't have to call me kid."

  
Tommy laughs, tugs him sideways into a small circular room and for an instant Kris forgets to be worried about Cook and Archie. He forgets that Tommy hates him and Adam can't decide on what he wants or what Kris has to do to give it to him.

  
He crosses to the piano in three quick steps, reaching for the lid without even thinking about asking. The keys are smooth white, shining in the dawn sunlight. He runs his fingers across them, feeling the chill of the ivory and the potential that almost seems to be thrumming through the instrument. It is so beautiful he wouldn't have dared to press them, if he hadn't been so desperate that he started before his awe had a chance to catch up.

  
The first note rang out, pure and true. Someone had tuned this recently, he supposes, but that doesn't matter because he's distracted pulling out the stool and sitting down, resting his hands against the keys as though they hold all the answers.

  
"I would've told you to meet me here," Tommy says, dragging Kris reluctantly out of the moment. "But since no one's yet seen fit to give you the guided tour..." he trails off as Kris doesn't look at him. "There are a few guitars here too, some drums. If you want anything else, you just have to ask."

  
Kris has heard rumours of rooms like these in the larger mansions, rooms built purely for music. It always seemed like too much to hope for but now he is in one. He is sitting at a piano and he touches his fingers to the keys, playing the only tunes he knows.

  
The last time he saw a piano he was nineteen years old. It was a ratty old thing in the corner of a room. He had watched a young man named Matt sit at it and pull the most amazing music just by pressing the keys. Later that night—when everyone was passed out drunk on couches all over the house—he had slipped back into that room and played until his old master had arrived to take him home.

  
He lets his hands ring out the last note, then turns to see Tommy still standing by the doorway—apparently lurking in doorways is a skill he has—smiling a little.

  
"I thought you hated me," Kris finds himself saying.

  
Tommy lets out a long sigh and sits down at the piano next to him, leaning very slightly into Kris's side. He is warm and his crazy hair tickles and Kris can see why Adam would like him. "I don't hate you, Kris, I just don't think you're the right thing for Adam right now." He hesitates, reaching out to touch the keys with one hand. "And I know he's not the right thing for you."

  
"I could be the right thing," Kris says, defensive. "If he would just tell me what the right thing was. It's my job, being who he wants me to be. It's just like he's determined to be confusing, sometimes he seems to want me to be happy but he doesn't... I know nothing he's done is technically wrong and it's all legal but he cheated and he knows he cheated and I thought he'd be a better man than that."

  
Tommy frowns a little. "A better man? Even if he'd played fair, it would be hard to be better than he was."

  
"Taking money to fill overflowing treasuries while my old friends are forced out of their home and onto the streets?" Kris hits an angry discord. "I'm not sure how he could be worse."

  
Tommy is still frowning, but he seems confused more than anything, turning his head to meet Kris's eyes. "Adam didn't take the money," he says, and if his voice had been anything other than utterly perplexed Kris wouldn't have believed him in the slightest.

  
"Of course he took the money."

  
"No, he made us leave it in the kitchen. All the money he won from Lord Fuller, all the money he bet against Lord Fuller, in fact, and everything else we were carrying at the time. I think if he'd been able to, he would have given more."

  
Kris is sure that this has to be a lie or a trick or something but Tommy is looking at him and all his eyes seem to be saying are 'why didn't you know already?'

  
"Why?" Kris asks, because there is no reason and he has to trip Tommy up somewhere before he starts believing it. "Why would Adam do that?"

  
"To pay for you," Tommy says, as though it should've been obvious. "He offered Fuller half a fortune after we saw you playing in the garden." He shrugs. "People don't say 'no' to Adam all that often."

  
"Adam paid for me," it seems an alien concept, but at the same time it settles him. Being sold to the prince for a small fortune makes far more sense than being stolen away in the dead of night. "Why didn't he tell me?"

  
"Probably some idiotic Adam reason, I imagine it's the same ridiculous streak of pride that means he hasn't told anyone you're not professionally trained and he hasn't told you about Brad and why he's being such an asshole lately. You need to leave, or get some answers from Adam, or leave."

  
It is pretty clear which of those options Tommy prefers. "Adam doesn't want to talk to me, he made that very clear."

  
"So you're not leaving." Tommy lets out a long sigh. "Then you need to be less of a pushover. Don't take 'no' or 'later' of 'I can't tell you' as an answer. Don't let him distract you with kisses or sex or whatever else you get up to when I am thankfully at the other end of the castle. Stop acting like what he wants is the most important thing."

  
Kris has never been more certain that Tommy does not understand the whole concept of servitude. "It is the most important thing."

  
"Only if you let it be. Adam will treat you like an equal if you act like an equal. If you act like a slave, he'll treat you like a slave."

  
Kris almost says 'I am a slave' but Tommy's expression suggests that wouldn't be a good idea. "Do you still think I should leave?"

  
"I think you want more than Adam can give you, but you're not going anywhere." He stands up. "Now, I have a job to do. You can sit in here until you calm down, then go talk to Adam and once that's done find me and we'll start on the tango."

  
More dancing. Great. Kris traces his fingers across the keys for a moment before something about what Tommy said strikes him. He turns around to see Tommy halfway through the door. "What is your job?"

  
The blond laughs. "I play bass."

  
"Don't you think all this—showing me around, teaching me to dance, advice about Adam—is a little above and beyond the call of duty?"

  
Tommy shrugs his shoulders. "I've got to make sure I always have someone to play bass for."

  
Kris frowns. "Don't act like I'm stupid. Even Adam said he has no idea what he pays you for."

  
Tommy laughs. "That's because Adam assumes that when he wants someone they'll be there." The door swings shut behind him.

Twenty  
"So," Kris says, taking a leaf from Tommy's book and standing in the doorway. It only occurs to him now that the doorway is the perfect position to keep a safe distance, and also provides an escape route should anything go wrong.

  
He wonders when Tommy figured that one out. "Can we talk?"

  
Adam lets out a long sigh, and continues carefully ringing his eyes in black, not even hesitating until the line around his left eye is as dark and flawless as the one around his right. Then—and only then—he places the pencil down on the cracked mirror. "I said not now."

  
"You said not last night," Kris says, before Adam can pick up the eye shadow and forget him all over again.

  
"And now I'm saying not now." He pulls the pot towards him with unnecessary force. "I'm not in the mood, Kris. Just come over here and—"

  
"I am," Kris interrupts.

  
Kris interrupts. His whole body tingles slightly because he is interrupting and he's not being apologetic and Adam is raising perfectly sculpted eyebrows at him in the mirror and Tommy was wrong, Kris is going to get fired or sold or killed and dumped in the river because that's what you do with disobedient slaves.

  
"You are what?" Adam asks.

  
Kris swallows down his fears. Treat him like an equal. "In the mood. For this conversation."

  
Adam laughs and picks up a brush, dismissing the idea already. "It isn't all about you."

  
"Our relationship?" Kris says, before Adam can smother his face in even more paint to hide the fact that he is just as human as everyone else. "I'd say it's about fifty percent about me."

  
For a moment he thinks Adam will ignore him entirely. Then the prince places the brush carefully back on the table and turns his chair to look directly at Kris. "Fine," he says, which is pretty much the last thing Kris expected him to say. "Let's talk."

  
It is progress—of a sort—so Kris leaves the doorway and sits on the bed instead. Adam doesn't get up to join him, which is good, he just turns his make-up stool to follow Kris around the room until he is sitting cross-legged on the rich sheets. The pantomime also gives him time to sum up his courage and remember what he wants to say. "Why are you so desperate for me to hate you?"

  
Adam laughs a perfect, courtly laugh. "I don't want you to hate me, baby."

  
Kris waits patiently for him to finish. "The thing about a talk," he says, when Adam is silent again. "Is if you're just going to keep lying to me there's no point even trying. I may as well just go and learn the tango or how to eat mussels without spraying some queen or other."

  
"What makes you think I'm lying to you?"

  
"How much did you pay for me?"

  
Adam laughs again. "I won you, remember. That card game where you so kindly bet yourself and then started going on at me about slaves having to sleep on the streets."

  
Kris stands up and starts walking towards the door.

  
"Kris, Kris wait."

  
Kris doesn't mean to stop, but he does anyway. "How long does it take you each morning to paint on a smile? Do you practice laughing and joking in front of a mirror? How many times have you considered telling the truth, and then put that thought aside because lies were just easier, less effort, less emotional involvement? How many times have you taken the easy way out because that way you couldn't get hurt?"

  
Adam doesn't stand up, but he stops pretending to laugh and even the perfectly cultivated smile fades. "How much did Tommy tell you?"

  
"He said you offered Simon half a fortune and when he wouldn't take it you stole me and gave him half a fortune anyway. He told me I wanted something you couldn't give me."

  
"That's true." Adam traces one hand along the crack in his mirror.

  
"How do you know, you don't know anything about me."

  
"Last night when you said you loved me, did you mean it?"

  
Kris remembers throwing it out as a barb and hating Adam and not knowing how he felt because sometimes he was in love and sometimes he was fighting off images of Archie and Cook dying in each other's arms. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe."

  
Adam just nods, as though this is a definite answer. "That's how I know."

  
Adam wanted a professional, he wanted someone who could see him in his most tender moments, someone who could sleep in his bed and find out all his secrets without doing anything as crude as falling in love with him. "Are you still in love with Brad?"

  
Adam stands up as though to move closer, but Kris takes a step back because he can't afford to be distracted and his prince just stands there looking lost and strangely small. "I don't... I haven't seen him in a while. Maybe, I don't know."

  
"You could fall in love with me," Kris says, because he is selfish.

  
Adam shakes his head. "I made a promise - to my parents, to my band, to the kingdom—no more falling in love."

  
Well, that has to be the most ridiculous reason Kris has ever heard in his life. "Why would you make a promise like that?"

  
Adam throws his hands up. "Because I did everything wrong. Because I fucked up." He drags his hands back through his hair, scattering it across his face. "I thought I could be more important than anything. I thought he would change who he was for me."

  
Kris sits carefully back on the bed. "What happened?"

  
"I fell in love," Adam says, turning round to his mirror and speaking so softly Kris has to strain to hear. "And he fell in love—you can tell sometimes, you know. It didn't matter that he was my slave, we went to parties and he was always talking and laughing and dancing with half the kingdom and I let him go visit his family, sometimes I even went with him." He pauses, tracing his fingers back and forth along the cracked mirror. "I set him free."

  
It is the last thing Kris was expecting to hear, after Adam was so desperate to keep him close. "Why?"

  
"I thought he would stay." Adam shakes his head slowly. "I was wrong." He looks over his shoulder. "I want you to be happy, Kris. I want to see you smile and laugh and I want to hear you sing a song that doesn't make me want to cry."

  
"So set me free."

  
Adam laughs—a sad, broken sound. "I want you to be happy here, I want you to be happy with me."

  
"Then we have a problem," Kris says, looking straight into those beautiful blue eyes. "Because if I stay here, I'm going to fall in love with you."

  
Because Adam is amazing, because he sings and the whole world listens, because Kris is already three quarters of the way there—far enough that half of him doesn't care if Adam never loves him back as long as he never has to leave Adam's side.

  
"So Tommy was right," Kris says. "You can't give me what I want." He still isn't leaving. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go learn how to tango."

*

"So you talked to Adam then?" Tommy asks, when Kris has barely stepped into the room his face set into a permanent scowl.

  
"How did you guess?" he snaps.

  
Tommy laughs. "I tend to blame Adam for everything, it's usually quicker than working through all the evidence and proving that it was his fault. What happened?"

  
Kris storms to the end of the room, then stops and turns to storm back. "I lost before I even started playing and he loved Brad and he still loves Brad and I have no chance and shouldn't fall in love with him even though I know I am or am going to and he can't-slash-won't set me free so basically I'm doomed."

  
Tommy places an arm in front of Kris to stop him pacing up and down the small dance studio, then he sighs and places an awkward arm around Kris's shoulder. "If it helps," he says roughly, apparently bad at giving comfort. "I hated Brad."

  
It shouldn't help, but it does a bit. "What was he like?"

  
"He was far more obnoxious than you. And louder. And it took him longer to learn how to dance."

  
"Hah," Kris says, finding himself smiling a little.

  
Tommy claps him on the shoulder. "Of course, you haven't tried to tango yet so—" he breaks off as the door to the room opens and Adam steps inside.

  
"Kris?" the prince says quietly. He hasn't added any more to his make-up, and he's wearing loose, simple clothes.

  
Kris inclines his head a little, as one would to an equal. "My prince."

  
"I like you," Adam says, in the tones of one saying something far more serious. "I like you very much." He smiles and drops into a full bow, as though he has been presented to some foreign king who's important far outstrips his own. "May I have this dance?"

  
Kris swallows a little. "I don't know it yet," he says, raising his hand.

  
Adam takes it, brushing a soft kiss across his skin before reaching for Kris's waist. "Then would you do me the honour of letting me teach you?"

  
Kris can't hide a smile as he closes his hand on Adam's. "The honour is all mine, my prince."

Twenty one  
Kris fails to learn the Tango. Adam doesn't help, too busy trying to taste every millimetre of Kris's mouth, touch every inch of his skin and press him up against the nearest wall. Tommy perseveres for an impressive half hour then throws up his hands and storms out.

  
"I think we broke Tommy," Kris says.

  
Adam laughs into his mouth. "Tommy's my bitch, he's used to it."

  
For a moment Kris feels a flash of the same emotion he gets whenever Adam talks about Brad. It's strange, how he was never jealous of anyone before Adam and now it is all he seems to feel. "Did you ever sleep with Tommy?"

  
"Tommy's straight," Adam says casually. Kris watches him and waits patiently until he realises this isn't a valid answer. (Until a week ago Kris was straight. Maybe. Well he'd never given it much thought, at any rate). "No," Adam clarifies, with a smile that says 'I'm glad you care.' "We kissed a few times, but only at parties. Only in public. People expected it of us, well they expected it of me. It never went any further." He leans forward to press smiling kisses against Kris's cheek, his jaw, his neck. "I would say you blush when you're jealous, but I think you just blush all the time."

  
Kris blushes even more and pulls back a little. Adam laughs and doesn't let him go, pressing his lips against Kris's mouth and sliding his tongue inside.

  
Kris is no longer a stranger to kissing Adam, but it still seems to come as a surprise. He still wishes each one would last forever, as everything falls away and he reaches up to slide his fingers through Adam's hair in the unending quest to make it look less than perfect.

  
Adam moves back a little and kisses each of Kris's red cheeks. "I like it." His fingers side down Kris's body, brushing across the scar on his side and over his belly button before settling against the waistband of his trousers.

  
"Tommy doesn't hate me at the moment," Kris says. "I think if we have sex in here, that might change."

  
Adam slides his fingers down under the fabric, his fingers are cold and Kris arches against him. "Let's stop talking about Tommy."

  
Kris leans in to kiss Adam, sliding his arms across the prince's back and up under his shirt. "Distract me?"

  
"Remember that time when you were innocent?" Adam presses him against the nearest wall, pushing the trouser down off his hips.

  
Kris is pretty sure he rips Adam's shirt, a side effect of trying to get it off without either of them having to take their hands off each other.

  
"Yeah," Adam says. "Innocent. Boy did that get old fast."

  
Kris pulls him in for another kiss, biting on his lip and pushing his fingers back through Adam's hair.

  
"Okay," Adam says when Kris is forced to draw breath. His lips are red, his hair is mussed and Kris allows himself to have a moment of triumph. "Conversation is so overrated."

  
Moment over. "Shut up and fuck me," Kris snaps, pushing at Adam's waistband.

  
Adam presses him into the wall. "Whatever you wish," he says into Kris's ear, his lips ghosting against the skin. "My consort."

  
His hands are everywhere, his lips close behind and finally he shuts up.

*

They go for a walk in the gardens, Adam spins Kris within a weeping willow and kisses him beside a lake filled with dating golden fish. He presses Kris against the wooden columns of the summerhouse, pulling the shirt off over Kris's head and laughing when he blushes.

  
"The gardeners are watching," Kris tells him.

  
Adam kisses his neck and his chest. "Let them watch," he says, reaching for Kris's trousers.

  
Kris blushes so hot you could fry an egg on his cheeks. "Adam," he whines.

  
His prince laughs again, and releases him briefly to spin around. "To all those in earshot, your prince commands you to avert your eyes from the sex he is planning to have privately right now with his consort who is beautiful and amazing and who your prince does not deserve because he is something of an asshole."

  
Kris grabs his arms and pulls him round into a kiss before he can say anything else ridiculous and embarrassing and so amazingly sweet that Kris falls in love with him all over again. "I'm not having sex in the gardens."

  
Adam pouts. Kris leans forward to bite his lip—what, it was so damn tempting—and they're kissing again and then Adam is kissing a trail down Kris's chest. "One blow job?" he says, already halfway there and Kris does one half-hearted check to make sure no one is looking.

  
Anyway, Adam's mouth is amazing anywhere and Kris is a consort so no one cares and Adam is still smiling when he stands up and kisses Kris, one hand in Kris's hair and the other doing his trousers back up. "Sex in the garden tomorrow?" he asks, pulling out the puppy dog eyes and today Kris shakes his head but he can tell tomorrow there will be sex in the garden.

  
He finds he doesn't care that much. "I love you."

  
Adam's smile grows even wider as he pulls Kris into a hug, leaning down to whisper in his ear, where no one else can listen in. "I like you too."

  
"I said no sex in the garden," Kris says. "There are other places."

  
Adam laughs and kisses him. "We should go to one of those places."

  
Kris tilts his head and kisses him back. "We should go to all of those places."

Twenty two  
"Your hair," says Kris, in a self-satisfied way. "Looks terrible."

  
"Oh god." Adam reaches up with one hand, trying to flatten the strands where Kris has—finally got them to stay messed and mixed up and ridiculous. "Oh god, I need a bath. I need shampoo and mousse and three types of conditioner. Why isn't there a mirror in this cupboard?"

  
The cupboard is just off the throne room. They are supposed to be presiding over court, giving advice to the people who have come to seek it.

  
Adam had sat on a throne, Kris had been given a cushion so he could kneel at his prince's feet. The set up had lasted all of five minutes before Adam had slid off the throne and pulled Kris into his lap, punctuating royal advice with kisses, fingers walking up Kris's side.

  
They had managed almost ten minutes on the floor before the 'all of those places' quest took over (Adam calls it The Great Sexpedition, Kris calls it adorable, amusing and frequently embarrassing but totally worth it). It has been a week and Kris thinks maybe they are halfway through all the places he can think of (which is possibly a fifth of the way through all the places Adam can think of). This includes the royal carriage—Kris thinks he is pretty much up there with Brad on Tommy's list of 'people I hate'—someone else's ballroom—Kris can't remember which baron it was, he is just thankful for the many concealing properties of curtains—and one memorable time in the dungeons.

  
(Adam doesn't have a lot of kinks but he claimed a bit of experimentation never hurt anyone and maybe that would have been true if he'd given a bit more thought to who got chained up and the speed a key would travel through Kris's digestion after Adam had suggested he try swallowing it.

  
As it was, Kris had been forced to fetch Tommy who had laughed until he was about to burst then informed the prince that if it wasn't for the very important party that evening Adam would be staying right where he was.)

  
"You're laughing at me," Adam says, pouting.

  
"Always, my prince," Kris says, reaching up to catch Adam's lower lip between his teeth. It turns seamlessly into a kiss, the way everything does.

  
"If I can't fix this," Adam tells him, even as he pushes Kris back against the wall (Adam talks during sex, Kris has gotten used to it by now). "What are we going to do about this party tonight? I can't go if my hair's a mess."

  
Kris laughs. "I shall have to take Tommy and make your excuses for you. I am so sorry, Lady Dioguardi, Prince Adam could not attend your fine soiree because he was far too busy staring at his own reflection and weeping for the future of humanity."

  
Adam kisses him again, then a couple more times for good measure. "You're not taking Tommy to the ball. I'm going to go and have a bath and I will look so fantastic when I come out that you will regret even suggesting it."

  
"I'll go tell Cassidy to start designing a hat, shall I?" He pauses. "Does this mean we get to stop sitting at court?"

  
Adam laughs, kissing a trail down the side of Kris's neck. "I don't think they will ever let us sit at court together again." He sighs. "So you have to go finish my appointed court time, and then you have to find Cassidy to collect both our outfits for tonight and request a fabulous hat, and then you have to find Tommy and tell him we need the larger carriage because Katy and Cale are both coming, and then you have to eat because Kara never serves enough food for two, and then—"

  
"And all this time," Kris says. "You will be sitting in a bathtub washing various different ointments out of your hair."

  
"It's an important job," Adam says. "But somebody has to do it." He reaches up onto a shelf and after a moment's rummaging finds some kind of woollen hat to pull on over his head. "In future, don't mess with the hair." He reached for his trousers and is half dressed before Kris even starts moving. "I will see you this evening, try not to send the kingdom into ruin."

  
"Wait," Kris suddenly realises what this means. "Wait, I can't sit at court. I don't know what to do, I can't tell people what to do."

  
"Sure you can." Adam kisses him on the cheek before pulling his shirt over his head. "Mostly all they need is some outside perspective. Just stay fair, and if you definitely aren't sure tell them to listen to their hearts or some shit like that."

  
Kris gets his trousers on an instant before Adam pushes the door open. Naturally, Katy and Cale would be choosing that moment to walk past, deep in some conversation that is interrupted by Adam stepping out of a closet in which Kris is standing half naked and covered in red marks.

  
Adam is, of course, undaunted by this. "Lady O'Connell," he says, with a bow. (Adam warmed to Katy quickly once he had established that she wasn't trying to steal his consort but was fully prepared to entertain him in his favourite hobby of making Kris blush.) "What a lovely surprise."

  
"Prince Lambert," she says, with a polite curtsey then leans past him to smile at Kris in the closet. "Kris."

  
"Lady," Kris mumbles, the red of his blush almost obscuring the hickeys. "Cale."

  
Cale isn't paying attention to Adam or Katy, he is staring at Kris's chest, touching his own side in the exact place where Kris's scar would be.

  
Kris touches the scar self consciously and reaches behind him for his own shirt. "If you'll excuse me," he says, stepping out of the closet and back down the corridor. "I am expected at court."

  
"Of course," Katy says with a grin.

  
Cale frowns and doesn't say anything at all.

Twenty three  
Kris finishes dealing with the people—he even gets to sit on the throne, which is surprisingly comfortable. He sends a servant to find Cassidy, tells Tommy about the carriage—he already knew, because he is Tommy Joe Ratliff and thus knows everything—and goes up to the music room with a bread roll and lump of cheese from the kitchens.

  
He isn't really playing anything, just messing around with chords and melodies and enjoying the fact that he has access to a piano. Sure, it's a distraction but maybe he needs one because he can't stop thinking about Cale's frown and what it might mean.

  
"Kris?"

  
And this is exactly what Kris didn't want to happen, what Kris doesn't want to hear. He doesn't turn around because he doesn't want to see Cale standing in the doorway and watching him. "This is a private room," he says instead. "You're not allowed in here."

  
"Kris Allen," Cale continues, as though Kris didn't say anything. "From Conway, Arkansas. Sold to the O'Connell estate at five years old in exchange for a fistful of silver and some empty promises."

  
Kris bites hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood so he doesn't find himself saying 'tell me more, tell me who I am.' He forces himself to sit quietly until he is composed enough to say what he has to. "I have no idea what you're talking about, if you could please leave."

  
"That scar on your side," Cale says. "How did you get it?"

  
"I don't remember," Kris says, trying to remember who Cale is and how he _knows_ because there is no doubt that he knows and that he has put two and two together and come up with 'there is no way Kris maybe-Allen is a fucking professional consort'.

  
"That's a pretty big gash to just forget."

  
"What would you know about it?"

  
Cale laughs and steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Where to start? I know you got it when you were eight years old. I know one of the Duke of Conway's friends slashed you with his hunting dagger for daring to kiss O'Connell's daughter in a common children's game. I know I was the one who found you huddled in a corner with your hand pressed against it whimpering about getting blood on the carpets." He takes a step closer, his hand lifting a little as though he expects Kris to reach for him. "I remember taking you to the kitchens where I worked, getting my mother to sew you up with her needle and thread. I remember pressing old rags against it all night, singing to you and begging you not to die. You forgot all that?"

  
Kris stares at the piano keys and wonders what else he has blanked out. He remembers the duke's fierce eyes and the blows that came down on his shoulders and back. He remembers lying on a bed while someone sang (he remembers that's where his love of music came from) but he doesn't remember bleeding almost to death.

  
He doesn't remember Cale, which is something Cale seems to realise as he lets his hand fall. "You're not a consort," Cale says, thrusting his hands into his pockets instead. "You were sold as a stable boy when you were eight. If I had to guess, I'd say you were a minstrel until Adam decided that since he was prince he could have whatever he wanted and forced you to come back with him."

  
"He didn't force me to do anything."

  
Cale laughs. "He's a prince, you're a slave. Everything he says or does is forcing you to do something, you just don't know what yet."

  
"It's not like that."

  
"He is taking advantage of you because you look like his ex boyfriend." Cale drags one hand backwards through his hair, making it stick up at all kind of strange angles.

  
Kris tries to remember if anyone has told him before that he looks like Brad. Maybe Adam just has a type, maybe it's all perfectly legitimate.

  
It doesn't matter anyway. Kris stands up to his full (and not at all impressive) height and looks directly into Cale's eyes. "I'm in love with him."

  
Cale does not seem at all impressed. "You've been a slave so long you've forgotten how to think for yourself. It's not uncommon, it's not healthy and it certainly isn't right."

  
Kris opens his mouth to try and explain about Simon, about spending five years not being treated like a slave, about—yeah—wanting to make Adam happy but how Adam wants to make him happy too. He wants to explain how Adam says 'I like you' which means 'I love you' and how Kris may not know a lot of things about himself but he certainly knows what he wants.

  
Then he sees Cale's face and realises it might already be too late. "What did you do?"

  
Cale hesitates very slightly at Kris's expression. Then he shakes this off, and returns to his previous state of righteous anger. "I told Katy."

  
Kris barely lets him finish before leaving the room at a run. He has to find Adam.

*

Adam is dressed. His hair is clean and clearly was flat until Adam started running his fingers obsessively through it. He looks up when Kris opens the door, and Kris thinks he would've run across the room if it wasn't for the fact that Kris never stopped running and falls into his arms before his prince has a chance to move.

  
"Kris," Adam buries his head in Kris's shoulder, running his hands across his back. "Kris, Kris, god baby, where have you been? I like you, oh fuck I like you."

  
"I love you," Kris whispers, crawling into Adam's lap and wrapping his arms around his prince as though nothing will ever tear them apart. "I love you I love you I love you."

  
"Adam," Tommy says, sharply. "The queen will be coming here as soon as Lady O'Connell finishes talking. Do you really want to make this worse for yourself?"

  
Katy is telling the queen. Of course Katy is telling the queen, Cale has somehow convinced her that her childhood playmate is being brainwashed by the prince. "I didn't say anything," Kris whispers. "Cale remembered me, I didn't remember him. I'm sorry."

  
"Shh," Adam rubbed his hands gently up and down Kris's back. "It's okay, I know."

  
"Adam," Tommy snaps again. "You need to sort this the fuck out. Get Kris out of here, talk to your mother, work out a compromise between what you want and what you can have."

  
Adam kisses Kris's jaw, rough desperate kisses. "Get out."

  
"Adam—"

  
"Tommy Joe Ratliff if you value your job you will get the fuck out of here right now."

  
There is a moment's silence. "You've fucked up," Tommy says. "I'm just telling you before everyone else does." He goes to storm out, hesitating in the doorway. "And anyone with eyes can tell you're fucking in love with him." The door slams open, Kris buries his face in Adam's chest and kisses him desperately.

  
"Kristopher Allen."

  
Kris holds still for a moment, Adam's fingers tight in his hair, then his prince releases him slowly so he can turn around, still sitting on the bed pressed as close to Adam as he can get.

  
The queen is standing in the doorway. Her head is high, her dress is soft red velvet and her eyes are blazing.

  
"My Queen," Kris says, barely louder than a whisper.

  
"I am going to ask you a question and I think you should know that if you do not answer correctly your life may well be forfeit." She takes slow measure paces into the room. Kris presses closer to Adam and feels very small. "Have you ever trained professionally as a consort?"

  
Kris still hesitates, glancing at Adam who gives a slight nod, staring down at his hands. "No, my queen."

  
"And were you ever the consort to any other person—be they noble, landowner or commoner—before being obtained by my son."

  
"No, my queen."

  
"And did my son obtain you in a lawful fashion?"

  
Kris hesitates again, looking sideways at Adam for reassurance, Adam gives no signs at all. "I believe he did," Kris lies. "My queen."

  
"I didn't," Adam interrupts. "I cheated, I stole him."

  
The queen purses her lips so tight they almost vanish. "Very well," she says softly. "Kristopher, you may retire elsewhere."

  
"There's a party—" Kris says, without thinking.

  
"You will not be required to attend. You are relieved of all your duties, though I expect you to remain in the palace until I have decided on the course of action to take to cover up this whole mess."

  
Kris looks to Adam again, looking for some sign, some indication of what he should do. Adam doesn't so much as look up.

  
Kris stands up slowly, letting his hand brush across Adam's as he does so. Adam's fingers close tight on his for an instant, then he lets Kris go.

  
Kris lets the door to the bedroom swing closed behind him.

  
"So," the queen says, behind him. "When will you tire of doing things to publicly shame and humiliate this household?"

  
This time, Kris has no idea where he's running.

Twenty Four  
He goes to the garden, which isn't much of an escape because all the gardeners have seen or heard things they shouldn't have. They all know about him and Adam, they all know he shouldn't be here, he should be at this party.

  
They all think he is better than them. They think he has done ten years of training and knows all kind of secrets that they can hardly dream of. They don't realise that everything he knows can be taught in a week. They don't know that he's just a musician who was in the wrong place (the right place?) at the wrong (right?) time.

  
Cale finds him in the summer house. He says "I only told Katy because she could get an audience with the queen. Don't take this out on her. She wants to talk to you. No one ever told her about the beatings, the sale. All she remembers is that one day you were there and the next you were gone." He sits down next to Kris. At a distance, it probably looks like they're friends. "She missed you."

  
"She had you," Kris says. "I don't have anyone."

  
Cale frowns. "The queen will work something out. You might even be able to go home, see your family again."

  
"My family sold me when I was five," Kris says dryly. "They'd just be strangers to me now." Even their name—Allen—is something he had forgotten. Within the space of an hour he has heard it more than he ever remembers hearing it before in his life. People keep using it as though it belongs to him. Kristopher Allen.

  
It doesn't feel like him. He just feels like Kris.

  
"Well, I'm sure they'll find you somewhere."

  
"Here. Here is good."

  
"Kristopher—"

  
"If you're looking for forgiveness, you're not going to get it. Not right now, maybe not ever."

  
"There are laws, Kris. Adam isn't above them."

  
"Go to your damn party."

  
He has had sex on the bank, on the jetty and in the reeds at the side of the lake. It seems strange that he has never swum in it before, but he remembers loving swimming - was it the house before Simon, or the house before that?—and apparently he has nothing else to do anymore.

  
The lake is round the back of the house, back here he doesn't have to see Adam dressed in the tailcoat and top hat that Cassidy carefully made for him, he doesn't have to see Tommy—or some other hired escort—take Adam's arm in his place.

  
Kris powers back and forth until he has forgotten how to think, then keeps going until the moon is high in the sky. Then he crawls out and collapses on the grassy bank, pulling dry clothes on over his wet body and staring at the stars without thinking of anything at all.

*

He gets up when he is shaking so hard his teeth start chattering. His hair is still soaked, his skin and clothes damp from both the water and the dew forming on the grass beneath his feet. He doesn't know where he is and isn't allowed to go anymore, so he just walks into the castle and heads for Adam's room, cracking the door open an inch.

  
There is no one in there. Adam's make up is strewn across the table, the way it always is after he's used it and before the servants have come to put it away. He pushes the door open and steps inside, barely hesitating before crossing to the first wardrobe.

  
There are four wardrobes in the room, each full to bursting with the newest and finest garments the kingdom has to offer. Everything Kris owns—by which he means everything Adam has bought him—fits on one shelf. The newest outfit from Cassidy is still lying on the bed where a servant placed it earlier, the folds crisp and perfect.

  
Kris throws his wet clothes into a corner on the floor and dries his hair on the curtains of the bed. As he is pulling on a clean pair of loose cotton trousers he hears the clatter of hooves on tiles and crosses to the window.

  
He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, but he looks out anyway as the carriage pulls to a stop. Cale climbs down first, reaching for the handle of the carriage to pull it open. Katy is wearing a gown of low-cut green velvet decorated with pearl beads.

  
She is followed by a young man in a white shirt and black waistcoat, the carriage lantern catches glitter on his sharp cheekbones and the hollow of his throat as he turns and holds out a hand for Adam to take as he climbs out after. Through the window, Kris hears the echo of laughter as Adam drapes an arm around the man's shoulders.

  
"Drake, you must give me some way to contact you in future. I always need access to a cute escort who knows how to deal with a certain nobleman who will not be named."

  
The man - who is ridiculous and doesn't need to show off his chest so much and who the hell names their child after a male duck anyway—laughs back and leans up to kiss Adam.

  
Adam turns his head at the last moment to say something to Katy, so Drake's lips only brush his cheek which is lucky because if they had kissed Kris would have gone down there and the queen would've heard about it and Adam would be on the receiving end of 'how many times can you shame this household in one day.'

  
Kris can't do that to him, so he closes the window and pulls the curtains across. The bed—which had seemed warm and cosy before—is far too big for one and he ends up curled at one end as though Adam is going to crawl in beside him.

  
He lies there for hours, and at some point he must fall asleep.

  
When he wakes up, the bed is still empty.

Twenty Five  
The queen doesn't visit him again. She sends one of her maidservants, a no-nonsense woman called Lisa who seems to think Kris has Stockholm Syndrome—he's known Adam for, what, a week? Two?—and doesn't listen to anything he says to the contrary.

  
She tells him over and over again that what he wants is important and that Adam isn't actually god of the world and can't take anything he wants. She doesn't listen when Kris tries to explain that—generally—what Adam wants and what he wants are pretty similar and Adam has never taken anything that wasn't willingly offered.

  
She offers to find his parents, Kris says he doesn't want to see them.

  
She offers to find him a room in the city, Kris says he's perfectly happy where he is right now, thank you very much.

  
She doesn't offer to free him. Apparently only Adam has the authority to do that and he's being stubborn (even though he has Drake now and he hasn't visited and no one will tell Kris where he is).

  
She encourages him to talk to Katy, then shuts them both in a room and leavesin the least subtle way imaginable.

  
"Cale said I shouldn't get my hopes up," Katy says.

  
Kris sits on the bed and doesn't look at her. "In a way, this is the second time you've ruined my life."

  
"Kris—" she starts imploringly, then stops when he doesn't look up. With a sigh, she sits on the floor below the bed and when Kris glances over—because he is weak, alright—she is staring at her hands and might be crying.

  
"I used to think I would marry you someday," she says. "I was five and I didn't understand class or social structure, I just knew that I had been the only child in a huge house for so long and then you were there and you never had to go home. You were always smiling and singing and we held hands and I thought we would be married."

  
Kris might have thought that too, when he was five. They used to kiss in the rose bushes every day and it was never a problem when no one knew, though they never thought of it like that.

  
"They didn't tell me why you'd gone. They just brought in this boy called Michael and he could sing too but he wasn't like you and he was rough and he never knew when I wanted to stop playing. I punched him and broke his nose, I remember the maids scolded me for getting red all over my new dress." She spreads her hands—she doesn't bite her nails anymore, Kris notices, even though it's ridiculous that she would. "Then they found Alexis since apparently they'd decided boys weren't suitable and she never wanted to play outside. I pulled her hair and made her cry and they sold her too. After that, they stopped trying so hard. While they were looking for someone suitable, the maids were cutting back on Cale's shifts in the kitchen and by the time someone found another family willing to sell their child, Cale was my best friend."

  
"Did you ever plan to marry him?" Kris asks, forgetting that he's not supposed to be listening.

  
Katy sighs. "By then I knew my place, I suppose. I still wished I could've married you. Sometimes I sat and wondered what you'd be doing at that moment, I thought maybe you were working in someone's stables, you always struck me as the type to be good with animals."

  
"Terrified of horses," Kris says, remembering his first job as a stable boy where all the animals were three times his size (and even now they were far too big for him to be entirely comfortable). "I don't want to marry you."

  
Katy laughs, a real 'I can't believe you said that' laugh. "I don't want to marry you either." She turns her head to look at him, smiling a little. "I'm engaged, in fact, to a charming gentleman who can't sing a note but loves long walks, good books and dancing." She reaches up to touch his leg lightly, with a hesitant smile. "But I'd like to be your friend again, if that is ever possible."

  
Kris closes his eyes and wishes he could say yes. He wishes Adam was the one waiting outside the door and he could be friends with Katy and they could visit Conway and he could kiss Adam amongst the flowers she speaks so highly of.

  
"I'm going home tonight," she says. "Cale's staying, Tommy's apparently teaching him guitar and he wants the opportunities available here. I set him free this morning." She stands, smoothing the simple fabric of her dress down the front, glancing up at him every other moment as though hoping something will change. "Adam's been invited to Conway whenever he is available. Consort or not, you're invited too."

  
Kris doesn't say anything, and after a moment she crosses to the door and raps neatly until it opens.

  
"See," Lisa says, all hustle and bustle as she comes back in. "You have friends, you have people, you can have a life outside Adam."

  
Kris slides off the bed. "Leave me alone."

  
He pushes past her, out the room.

*

Tommy finds him in the music room, sitting on the piano stool with his (Adam's?) guitar in his hands, strumming chords that aren't going anywhere and not even bothering to try words because nobody listens anyway.

  
"Where is he sleeping?" Kris asks, without looking round.

  
He hears Tommy sigh, cross the room to pick up a bass guitar and sit on the floor tuning it quietly. "I don't know," he says. "One of the guest rooms."

  
"He doesn't have to. I mean, the bed is his if he wants it. I can move." Kris looks down at the guitar in his hand and stops pretending to play it.

  
"Drake didn't stay the night." Kris didn't ask, but it's exactly what he wanted to know. "He got a bag of gold in the driveway and didn't get invited in. Don't go looking for competition."

  
"He could've stayed the night. It's not like I would've had any say, people keep reminding me that Adam can do whatever he wants."

  
Tommy sighs again. "Adam didn't invite Drake in because he didn't want to invite Drake in. He wants you, he is in love with you even though he won't say it."

  
"Yes," Kris says. "He's in love with me, I'm sure that's why he's been avoiding me and why he paid someone to go out with him and why he wouldn't lie to his mother for me and why I haven't even seen him since—"

  
"He's avoiding you because he's messed up with consorts before and he's scared of being hurt again. He knows his position; he knows you've been a slave longer than any consort. For all he knows, Lisa is right and you're totally whipped."

  
Kris shakes his head fiercely. "It's not like that," he says, angrier than he should be because he's tired of everyone parroting the same old line. "He's been amazing, I love him, he hasn't done anything wrong."

  
"I know," Tommy says wearily. "I know, and I've been saying the same things you have. But the trouble is you don't look like you could say no. You don't look like you could fight him off if he started doing something you didn't want, and maybe you would be too scared to try. The story makes far more sense the way they tell it, and 'love doesn't make sense' isn't enough of an explanation."

  
"But it's not—"

  
"I know it's not, Kris. But I also know how easy it can be to think it is." He plucks out a bass line as he speaks, and Kris joins in without thinking. "I thought the same thing they do," he adds, unexpectedly. "I assumed he did his whole 'this is what I want' thing and you were too Southern and acquiescing to say 'no, actually, I'd rather not.'"

  
"I want to make him happy," Kris says. "But making him happy makes me happy, and he wants to make me happy too and I don't see how that's any different to the kind of love people who aren't slaves are allowed to fall into."

  
"It isn't," Tommy says.

  
"So how do I convince them?"

  
"For me it took time," he says slowly. "Just, seeing the two of you together. When I encouraged you to stand up for yourself and you actually did it, when you stopped waiting for Adam's permission." He stops playing, swinging the bass off over his shoulder and leaning it back against the wall. "I think, maybe, they're not important though. Lisa, the queen, Katy, all the people who would think like them if they knew. They're not the ones you need to convince."

  
"Who is?"

  
Tommy raises his eyebrows. "If you can't answer that one, you don't deserve to get him back." He pauses, halfway to the door. "And you should try to be nicer to Cale."

  
"Since when did you care about Cale?"

  
He shrugs. "Just saying," and disappears out the door.

  
Kris hits an angry dischord on the guitar and hates cryptic advice and being left alone and everything and Drake.

  
Mostly Drake.

Twenty Six  
"So we need to talk," Kris says. "Again."

  
Adam turns on the spot, surprise and pain and apprehension warring on his face. Surprise wins, just about. "Kris! I didn't know you'd be here."

  
"No," Kris agrees. "Because if you'd known I was here, you wouldn't have been and I would have had to go through the whole business of escaping Lisa, Cale and all the servants in this place to track you down again."

  
Adam takes half a step back towards the doorway, looking at the walls, the paintings, the chests. Anywhere but at Kris. "Do we have to do it here?"

  
So the balcony overlooking the main doorway probably isn't the best place, but it was the only place Kris could think of to corner Adam and it's the middle of the afternoon when everyone who hasn't been recently put out of work and isn't a prince has a job to do. "We have to do it now," Kris says. "And since we're here now, here seems like as good a place as any."

  
Adam's eyes flick to him for half an instant, then he reaches out to grab Kris's arm—pulling back at the last minute as though Kris is red hot. "In here," he says, pulling open a side door and gesturing for Kris to step through in such a way that they don't have to touch in the slightest because Adam has jumped on the same bandwagon as every other idiot in this castle.

  
Be nicer to Cale. Hah. No way.

  
The room doesn't seem to have any particular purpose. There is a window overlooking the gates, one comfortable looking chair and a bookshelf with a few battered volumes and a large amount of empty space.

  
Kris sits on the arm of the chair, Adam stands awkwardly in the doorway staring resolutely at the wall over Kris's shoulder.

  
"Well," Kris says. "I was surprised when Tommy said he used to believe all this shit. It never really occurred to me that maybe you'd be stupid enough to believe it too."

  
Adam lets the door slam shut. "It's easy enough to believe. I fucked up—again—and you're paying for it and you don't even know because you think this is normal."

  
"Meeting someone I think is hot, finding out they're also an amazing person, having a few disagreements but working through them and coming out stronger? I don't see how that isn't normal."

  
Adam shakes his head pacing to the window and back. "You were Katy's when you were five. Can you even remember not being a slave?"

  
Kris wonders briefly if he could punch some sense into Adam—and if punching him would prove the point that he isn't quiet such a pushover as everyone has decided that he is. "I remember having a best friend," he says. "For three years. Then I remember getting a job, same as everyone else in the world. I was the equivalent of an unpaid manservant for a few years then I taught myself piano in a night and after that my master bought me a guitar and left me to learn. I spent a couple of years getting good then I got sold as a minstrel and got to do something I loved in return for a bed, food and security. For the last five years I've been with Simon who didn't care what I did with ninety percent of my time."

  
"And when he wanted you," Adam adds. "You'd be there, with a smile always ready to serve because he was your master and what he wanted mattered to you. More than anything."

  
He's using Kris's words against him which is ridiculous and annoying and totally out of context because Simon only ever asked him to play and Kris can't remember a time when he didn't want to play. "I was always where I wanted to be."

  
Adam scoffs at this. "And when I stole you, you weren't where you wanted to be. You wanted to be back in the South with your guitar and your friends but you couldn't say anything because you had to make me happy."

  
That is possibly the most ridiculous thing Kris has ever heard. "I'm sorry, at which point while we were leaving the South and returning to the castle did you think I didn't want to go home? I think I made my point pretty damn clear, if I'm honest."

  
"I didn't listen to you. I just did what I wanted."

  
Kris rolls his eyes. "I seem to recall the first time you tried 'whatever you wanted' and I panicked - because it was new and unfamiliar and I liked it more than I should've done—you were very keen on the 'I'm not going to make you do this if you don't want to' line." He folds his arms to give Adam a look that says his prince is being an idiot. "Do you even remember my first kiss?"

  
Adam actually looks back, which Kris regards as a triumph. "I remember you panicking because I was coming on too strong and you didn't know how to say no."

  
Kris waves this off as unimportant and totally untrue. "Not that one, you erased that one."

  
"I don't know if you know this, Kris, but I can't actually do that. I can't just wave a hand and make all my mistakes disappear."

  
"Funny, because whenever I think of my first kiss I don't think of being an idiot and turning you down." Kris takes a firm step towards him, and watches Adam try to step back but get stopped by the wall. "I think of the balcony when I was upset and needed somebody and you were there. I think of you saying what I needed to hear and then giving me the most amazing second first kiss anyone could ask for." He takes another deliberate step forward.

  
"It was taking advantage," Adam says. "You're my slave, you can't say no to anything."

  
"No," Kris says. "I didn't say no to anything. The reason I didn't say no to anything is because you're about a thousand times tamer than you seem to think you are."

  
"There were chains," Adam bleats, as Kris keeps moving forwards. "Chains and that might have scared you but you didn't say no because—"

  
"Adam," Kris interrupts, ruining his stalking seduction tactics completely by laughing. "You chained yourself up in your own dungeons and gave me the most amazing blow job. The only thing I was scared of was Tommy dying of laughter before he had the chance to get you out of there."

  
"You never said no," Adam says, sticking to his guns.

  
"Tell me to leave."

  
"Leave."

  
"No."

  
"It's an order."

  
"I don't care." He takes another deliberate step forward instead. "You want to see what happens if you tell me to back down or walk away or never kiss you again? There are a whole lot of things you could ask from me to which the answer would be no."

  
Adam reaches out to touch his cheek, his face twists in indecision as his fingers brush Kris's jaw. "And if I asked you to kiss me?"

  
Kris reaches to touch him back. "The answer to that one has been yes from the moment I saw you."

  
Adam stumbles closer, reaching for Kris with his other hand. "How do I know that this is what you want?"

  
Kris tilts his head back to look into Adam's confused blue eyes. "You trust me when I tell you that this is what I want."

  
He doesn't wait for Adam to make a move, just pushes himself up onto his toes and presses his lips to Adam's, reaching up to run his fingers through Adam's hair, which serves the dual purpose of stopping Adam from moving away until he's managed to get through his damn moral dilemma and his mouth slides open beneath Kris's. Kris isn't used to taking the lead and wishes he was taller but this is Adam who has seen him crying and blushing and learning to tango. It's not like he could do anything more embarrassing now.

  
When he drops back onto his heels Adam follows him, leaning in and sliding his fingers around the back of Kris's neck. "You can still say no," he murmurs. "You can walk away, you can find Lisa and tell her about all the terrible kinky things I do."

  
"Terrible kinky things, you say? I look forward to them."

  
"I'm serious, Kris. If you want—"

  
"Oh please, you're like a puppy who think it's some kind of rabid wolf who everyone must stay away from. I love you, Adam. Make-up or not, terrible kinks or not—" he leans up to kiss Adam again. "Prince or not. I love you."

  
"I like—" Adam starts, then stops and suddenly he is releasing Kris to head over to the door. Kris follows, somewhat confused as Adam looks up and down the corridor then down into the entrance hall.

  
"There's no one here," Kris says, realising an instant after he says it what that might mean as Adam turns to smile brilliantly at him. "What did you promise?" Kris asks.

  
Adam laughs and kisses him. "I promised I wouldn't fall in love with another consort, but a promise isn't exactly binding. It's not something you can control."

  
"There's no one here," Kris says again, feeling the smile spreading across his own mouth like it's infectious.

  
Adam kisses him again. "You know what I'm going to say."

  
"I want to hear you say it."

  
Adam leans towards him "I-"

  
The main door swings open and they both turn in unison, letting go of each other without needing to speak because there are still people to talk to and situations to explain and promises to erase from history.

  
"Hey honey," says the young man in the doorway, pulling Kris's attention back to him. He is dressed in what can only be one of Cassidy's constructions, his coat dripping chains like water and his face made up like Adam before a night out.

  
Adam's expression does all the necessary introductions and Kris feels himself go cold at the naked surprised delight on his prince's face. Kris has been forgotten, what he was about to say has been forgotten. Nothing matters now except—

  
Brad drops his bags in the hallway and holds out his hands to Adam. "I'm home."

Twenty Seven

  
Kris vanishes instantly in Adam's eyes. Of course he does, after all, he was only ever the replacement. Brad is small with short dark hair, a Southern drawl and a smile that gets stronger as Adam gets closer.

  
Adam said Brad was in love with him. That's another thing they have in common, another way Kris was filling in the hole that Brad had left.

  
Adam doesn't say anything for the longest time. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and takes Brad's hands to pull him closer. He touches the other man's cheeks and shoulders, runs his hands through short hair and rests his forehead against Brad's as though the tiniest amount of contact is enough.

  
Kris doesn't want to intrude but he walks down the stairs until he can hear what Adam is saying as he runs his fingers through Brad's hair and Brad traces circles on his waist like Adam belongs to him.

  
"You came back," Adam says, breathless and eager and relieved all at once. "You came back, you came back."

  
Kris sits quietly on the bottom step and watches Brad slide his fingers through Adam's hair to brush his thumbs back and forth across the bridge of Adam's ears. Does Adam like that? Kris never did that.

  
"You came back. I was so scared, I thought I'd never see you again, you stupid, stupid, why couldn't you send me a message? I just needed to know you were okay. I love you."

  
Apparently he can say it to Brad no matter how many people might be listening. He should get up and leave. Let Adam have his private moment with his boyfriend, with the one he loves.

  
Adam leans in to kiss Brad and Kris looks away, staring down at his hands where they're clasped on his knees. He clings to Adam's 'you know what I'm going to say' like a rope because it means they must have been thinking the same thing.

  
Or he is far more naive than Adam gives him credit for. Maybe Adam was going to set him free, send him home, spend the rest of his life with Drake. Except now he doesn't have to, because Brad is here and Adam will be happy (and Kris's job is supposed to be to make Adam happy but screw that).

  
"Why are you back?"

  
Kris glances up to see the kiss is over, they are back to just standing close, but when Adam moves forwards Brad steps back a little.

  
Adam's smile fades a little, and Kris both hates it and feels a surge of triumph. "Do you need money?" he asks. "Is that it?"

  
"No," Brad says quickly, stepping closer again and brushing his fingers through Adam's hair, leaning in to press his lips to Adam's cheeks. "No, honey, I'm here for you. I'm here to see you."

  
"Do you want anything? You can have anything you want."

  
Brad strokes Adam's hair again, slowly, the way Kris would've done if Adam was getting stressed and needed to calm down. Brad does it better, like he's had so much practice he doesn't even need to think about it. "I'm starving," he says. "Can we get something to eat?"

  
"Yes," Adam holds him tight for a long moment. "We'll have a banquet—no—a banquet's too slow. I'll take you to the kitchens. You can have roast meat and cakes—anything you like. I'll find you anything." He drops his hands to take Brad's. "Don't leave again."

  
He turns away from Brad for the first time to see Kris sitting on the bottom step, his knees pulled up against his chest, watching them. "Kris—" he says.

  
Kris doesn't need to hear 'ignore our last conversation' or 'I never loved you anyway' or 'I'm just going to let my mother sell you now.' He doesn't want to hear it, not from Adam's lips when it's bad enough that it keeps repeating over and over in his head. "I know," he says, before Adam can say anything that will haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. "I get it."

  
"It's just for a few days," Adam says, which doesn't make any sense, and he takes half a step towards Kris before remembering his hands are still clasped with Brad's. He doesn't let go. "Tommy will find you somewhere to sleep."

  
Adam wants his bed back. Adam wants his own bed so he can sleep with his own boyfriend and Kris has to go somewhere else until he's sold.

  
Kris opens his mouth to say 'Okay' even though it isn't, it really isn't okay and it will never be okay and his heart is breaking.

  
But Adam has already turned away. "Kitchens?" he says.

  
Brad lifts their hands and brushed his lips across Adam's knuckles. He doesn't say anything, but maybe there is something in his eyes because Adam smiles and drags him down the corridor.

  
Adam doesn't look back, but Brad glances over his shoulder and sees Kris sitting on the stairs.

  
If Kris was stronger, he would get up and punch Brad. He would tear the other man apart, send him back to wherever he had come from, beat him into the ground so he could never touch Adam again.

  
But he isn't, so he just sits there. Brad opens his mouth as though to say something, then shuts it again. He might look apologetic, he might just be tired, he might not care at all.

  
Kris stands up and leaves the hall. No sense letting every visitor and passerby watch him cry.

*

He goes to the music room because Adam and Tommy are the only people who know to look there. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Lisa came, anyway. Maybe he needs to stop telling her that he's staying. It's clear enough that he isn't needed here anymore.

  
Brad is here. Brad will make Adam happy and Kris should want that. Kris does want that. He wants Adam to smile and sing and he wants to know that everything his prince hopes for will come true because Adam deserves to be happy, he does.

  
But Kris is selfish and what was it that Adam had said? 'I want you to be happy with me.'

  
Kris sits at the piano stool and stares blankly at the keys. After a long time, he places his fingers on them and starts to play.

  
The melody comes easily, as though it has been waiting for him to write it. As though—deep down—Kris has just been waiting for this to happen.

  
 _"I've never been the one for saying the right things_  
 _And I messed up again, broke my heart, without even trying."_  
Brad was always going to come back, Tommy was right to say Kris should leave, Adam was right so say Kris shouldn't fall in love with him.

  
Kris just fucked everything up.

  
Kris doesn't even need to look round when the door to the music room opens to know that it's Tommy. The door doesn't shut either, which means he's standing in the doorway watching Kris play the song which was easy to write as long as tears kept falling on the keys.

  
"I was going to write a song called 'alright with me'," Kris says. "But I tried, and it wasn't." He starts _pushing the keys again, finding the now-familiar melody._

  
 _"You probably know that you did nothing this time_  
 _But I've made it known, that I'm not gonna give up being right._  
 _So I'll grab my coat and see you tomorrow."_  
Tommy lets the door swing shut. Kris doesn't even care, these words aren't written down and he wants to shout them to Adam but at the same time he doesn't want to because they should be wrong.

  
 _"Tell you what I'm gonna to do make it up to you tonight_  
 _I'm gonna leave you alone, leave you alone_  
 _Cause I don't know any other way to try and make it right_  
 _So I'll just leave you alone, leave you alone tonight."_  
He stops when his eyes are so blurred that he can't see the keys and his fingers are trembling too much to be sure of hitting the right notes. "I was told to ask you for somewhere to sleep."

  
"Well," says Brad from Tommy's traditional lecturing point in the doorway. "Adam always liked musicians."

Twenty Eight  
Kris tries to subtly wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Fucking hell, he needs to cry less. He needs to stop sitting back and watching Adam kiss other people. He needs to get out of here right now. "Sorry," he says, even though apologising to Brad is the last thing he wants to do. "I thought you were someone else."

  
Why is Brad even here, anyway? Shouldn't he be off fucking Adam who has apparently forgiven Brad betraying his trust, leaving and three years of being completely off the map just because he eventually got hungry and decided to come home.

  
"I guessed," Brad says. "That song had more of a 'Brad can fuck off and die' vibe than an 'I look forward to many scintillating conversations with my boyfriend's ex' vibe."

  
Kris pushes the piano stool back and determinately doesn't think about all the possible meanings of 'ex'. "I should go," he says, meaning 'you should go' but he can't say that so getting the fuck out of there is the next best thing even if it means having to stand up and turn around.

  
"Or maybe an 'I wish my boyfriend would talk to me but instead of talking to him I'm going to sit in a small out of the way room and mope vibe'." Kris turns in time to see Brad is smiling at him, although the smile dies quickly at the sight of Kris's face. "I mean, you're free to do what you like, obviously. I'm just saying—"

  
Kris slams the lid of the piano shut. "If Adam wants to talk to me, he can come and fucking talk to me. I'm sure I'm the first thing on his mind now that you're back. Notice how back in the hallway he could barely stay focused on you since his eyes were drawn so magnetically to me." Brad is sitting between Kris and the door. Kris has been raised to be polite to free men, to always use proper manners and not to do anything that might shame his owners. "Get the fuck out of my way."

  
"Wait," Brad stands up, blocking the door even more than he had been previously. "I just wanted to know... Adam said you've been a slave since you were five?"

  
Apparently Brad gets inside knowledge on all the secrets. "What of it?"

  
"So do you love him? It's not just a slave thing, you really love him?"

  
Kris curls his hands into fists but doesn't punch him. It is a very close thing. "My job is to make him happy," he snaps. "If it was just a 'slave thing', I would be trying to make him happy. As it is, I want to kill you and hide your fucking body and go back in time to when he thought you were dead in some swamp somewhere. Is that good enough for you? Do you feel satisfied now?"

  
"Honey—"

  
"The room's all yours. Go write some happy little song about stealing other people's fucking boyfriend's out from under their noses."

  
"I'm good." He taps his fingers awkwardly against the doorway. "People never exactly bought me for my singing voice."

  
"Fine." It is supposed to sound defiant, but it just comes out tired. "Fine, whatever. Stay here, go back to Adam, see if I care." He pushes open the door, almost breaking the nose of Tommy who had just been reaching for the handle. "Tommy."

  
"Kris," says Tommy. "There's an empty bedroom set up in the east wing for you, I had your guitar sent—" he trails off as he catches sight of Brad over Kris's shoulder.

  
"Tommy," Brad says, smiling in surprise. "Tommy Joe Ratliff. You're still hanging around here?"

  
"Bradley Bell." Tommy smiles back then steps forwards and slammed his fist hard into Brad's stomach. "You came back."

  
Brad bends double, clutching his chest and gasping for air. Tommy stands with his hands on his hips, watching as Brad attempts to push himself back upright. "I was going to aim for your face," he says, conversationally. "But Adam would have noticed."

  
"Fuck," Brad gasps out.

  
"I don't know where the fuck you've been," Tommy continues, still smiling like they're old friends. "Or what kind of customs they followed out there, but here in the capital when we do something stupid that is obviously going to hurt someone, we don't then hunt them down to gloat."

  
"I wasn't—" Brad starts, managing to get himself vertical.

  
Tommy punches him again. "I'm not finished. You might also like to know that here in the capital it is customary to call every once in a while to make sure that the people who love you know you're still alive."

  
"I didn't know you cared—" Brad is cut off this time by a knee to the groin.

  
"I don't care about you, I care about Adam the same as everyone else in this damn place. You fuck with him, you fuck with me and I have a better punching arm." He pauses then adds. "I also care about Kris, who is this man here. You don't know him but he is charming and humble and everything you are not."

  
Kris swallows and doesn't throw in all the ways Brad is everything he is not. Brad knows about make up and outfits, Brad is confident and secure in his body, Brad is free and he still came back.

  
Brad stands up again, watching Tommy carefully as he does so and holding both hands over his stomach as though they'll stop Tommy from hitting him again. "I didn't come here to gloat," he says, eyes flicking off Tommy and onto Kris. "Kris—"

  
"You don't have to listen to him," Tommy says. "East wing, first door next to the hideous tapestry with the unicorn."

  
"I didn't know he'd be with someone," Brad says. "I didn't come to mess anything up."

  
"Does Adam know where I'll be?" Kris asks, ignoring Brad entirely.

  
Tommy shakes his head. "I can tell him, if you want me to."

  
Kris glances sideways at Brad. "Don't bother. He'll be too busy for me anyway."

*

He has to walk past his old room—Adam's room, Adam and Brad's room—to reach the east wing. He shouldn't hesitate in the doorway, but he does. He hesitates then reaches for the handle, wanting to see how the room looked when Brad was last here, wanting to know how much of the three wardrobes Brad gets for his clothes, wanting to see if Adam has tidied up for Brad.

  
He has barely pushed the door open a crack when he hears voices from inside and freezes, not daring to move forward or back.

  
"You can't keep a boyfriend and a consort, Adam," the queen says. "It isn't proper, it isn't right and it certainly isn't fair to either of them."

  
Kris's heart leaps into his throat.

  
"I know," Adam says, sending Kris's heart back down like a yoyo.

  
"If you want to keep Brad," she continues, as though Adam needs the situation spelled out very slowly. "You have to sell Kris."

  
"I know."

  
Kris can hear her sigh and through the crack in the door, he sees the bed sink as she sits down beside him. "You would've had to sell him anyway, before word of his roots got out. This way we can do it quietly, sell him to a small estate down south. He can go back to being a minstrel, writing songs and playing music at gatherings."

  
"He would like that," Adam says quietly and Kris wants to scream because—yes—it sounds like his perfect position, but he can't go back to being alone. He can't sit in some court in the south knowing Adam is here with Brad on his arm making terrible jokes and smiling a terrible smile and never singing because Adam has enough minstrels.

  
He doesn't need a consort who can sing to him.

  
She hesitates. "You could even visit, from time to time, if he wanted you too."

  
"I don't think he would want that."

  
Kris lets the door slam shut. Screw the noise, he doesn't want to hear anymore. He doesn't want to know who Adam will sell him to, doesn't want to know that he is being traded for Brad. He wants to get out of here, find the bloody unicorn tapestry and get to the east wing and a private room and his guitar.

  
"Kris?" Adam's voice comes from behind him.

  
Kris doesn't turn around. "Fuck off, Adam."

  
"I got excited, I didn't expect to see him there, I'm sorry—"

  
Kris doesn't get angry. It's one of his big things. He definitely never hates someone so much that he would turn, storm down the corridor and punch them so hard their nose cracks. "I said fuck off, Adam, what part of that don't you understand?"

  
He turns away and walks back down the corridor so he doesn't have to watch Adam bleed and look forlorn. So he doesn't have to feel any kind of sympathy for the man who is going to sell him so he can get back with the guy who left him three fucking years ago.

  
"I love you." Adam sounds lost, and Kris knows if he looks back the prince will still be standing in the middle of the corridor with blood dripping from his nose, watching Kris with that forlorn expression.

  
Kris turns a corner and doesn't look back.

Twenty Nine  
Adam doesn't follow Kris back to his room, but the queen does. She doesn't knock—the idea probably doesn't even occur to her—just steps inside, pulls back Kris's only chair and sits as though the rickety old wooden thing is a throne. "Kristopher Allen?"

  
Kris doesn't bow. He's tired of bowing to people. He just sits on the bed and looks directly into her face. "Apparently."

  
Her lips purse a little, the only outward sign of annoyance. "I am attempting to organise a buyer for you. Do you have any preferences as to where you go?"

  
'Nowhere' is number one on Kris's list. He wants to sit in this damn room until Adam gets his act together, decides who he's in love with, and fights for him. "Home," he says.

  
"I see. I will send messengers to Conway to speak with the duke and see if your parents can be found—"

  
"Not that home," Kris interrupts, breaking even more etiquette rules and not caring in the slightest. "The place I was when Adam found me. With a nobleman called Simon Fuller. If I can't be here, I choose back there."

  
She nodded. "I'll dispatch a messenger, see if we can get them to come down here and negotiate."

  
"You could set me free," Kris throws out. "I mean, since you're asking what I want to do anyway. You could just set me free and then I could do whatever."

  
The queen's lips come in again. "My son is being remarkably non forthcoming in that regard. You are not my property, Kristopher, so I can't do anything with you. I can talk to my son, I can talk to you and I can attempt to arrange some kind of agreement. I cannot sell you and I cannot set you free without Adam's express permission."

  
Kris nods, because it makes sense as much as he doesn't want it to. "Adam doesn't want to set me free. He'd rather sell me to a stranger than set me free."

  
"The prince appears to have settled on this as a course of action, yes. He won you, it is his choice—"

  
"His choice as long as he doesn't choose to keep me," Kris reminds her sharply. "His choice as long as he agrees with whatever you say and doesn't try to explain that you were wrong to split us apart originally. If you hadn't decided that my feelings were completely different to what they actually were he wouldn't have pulled away from me. If you hadn't started meddling he might have made a different decision when Brad returned."

  
For a moment she looks sympathetic, almost human. "You are naive to think he would ever choose you."

  
"He loves me."

  
The look dies, replaced by an arched eyebrow and a condescending false smile. "Perhaps Adam said some things he should not have before Bradley returned. You should try to avoid clinging to those delusions. I will call Lord Fuller and do my best to get you returned there. Failing that, there are some charming estates down south which have put in some surprising offers that are probably far more than you are worth." She stood regally, spreading her skirts around her. "Tomorrow morning you will preside over court. It is Adam's allocated time but he will be busy with Bradley and since he has not yet seen fit to demote you, you still retain the authority to stand in his place. I trust you won't do anything that is not fitting."

  
"So I'm just expected to sit and be quiet until you need someone to do your dirty work, is that how this goes?"

  
"You are still legally his consort, Kristopher, and you will shoulder the responsibility that entails. If you did not wish for this to happen, you should have come to me as soon as he brought you to the palace."

  
Kris glances down at his hands where they rest in his lap. "I'll do it, since you asked so very nicely, but I suggest you leave now."

  
"You do not have the authority—"

  
"To do anything that might make a difference, I know. But I've already punched royalty once today and I might be getting a taste for it."

  
She sweeps out of the room. Kris waits for the door to slam then drops his head into his hands and wishes he could start making things better for himself instead of infinitely worse.

*

He tosses and turns on the unfamiliar bed for what feels like hours, before giving up and going to find Tommy. In doing so, he also finds Cale and might be scarred for life.

  
"So," says Tommy pulling a shirt over his head as he steps into the corridor to see Kris leaning against the wall and wondering if his life could get any worse. "Now you have also learnt a very important lesson about knocking."

  
"I thought you were straight. Adam always says you're straight."

  
Tommy leans against the wall. "Adam does not understand that there is a subtle difference between 'not interested in Adam' and 'Straight'."

  
"That was Cale, wasn't it?"

  
Tommy has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "We got talking after we played together, then we got dancing, then we got making out in a corner—"

  
"Too much information. Is this why you wanted me to give him a second chance?"

  
"He feels really bad about it. If he'd known it was going to fuck everything up, he wouldn't have done it."

  
"Right." A lot of people seem to be realising things way too late at the moment. "Just keep that door between him and me, because I just punched the prince and nearly punched the queen. If you like his nose, you might want to keep him back."

  
"You almost punched the queen? That was possibly the stupidest thing you have ever done, Allen. I'm impressed."

  
"I definitely insulted her. All those things you told me not to do under any circumstances when faced with someone who outranked me, I did pretty much all of them. It was like following a tick list." Tommy does not look impressed. In fact, he looks like he is contemplating locking Kris up to stop the crazy. "She wants me to sit at court," Kris explains. "Because I'm Adam's consort. I'm not allowed to be Adam's consort, of course, and she's not going to tell Brad to fuck off because Adam already has a consort but when it comes to finding someone to do the job no one else can be bothered to do I'm apparently all set."

  
"Did you just get me out here so you had someone to rant at?"

  
"I didn't think you'd be having sex with number five on my list of 'people I want to punch'. Maybe I should just go back and hit the queen. Sure, she'd probably sell me to Lord Cowell, but I bet I could break his nose too before they chopped my head off."

  
Tommy drags a hand through his hair and yawns. "Have you considered going to see Adam?"

  
"I've already punched Adam." Kris wonders if maybe he could sneak in and punch Brad. Sure, he's already had a beating at Tommy's hand, but that doesn't mean there isn't a spot somewhere that Kris could get.

  
"I meant to talk," Tommy clarifies. "Have you considered going to talk to Adam?"

  
"I considered it."

  
"And?"

  
"I decided against it. If he wants to fucking talk he can come and find me."

  
"He doesn't know where you are." Tommy casts a look back to his bedroom door and Kris is just making more people miserable and Tommy doesn't deserve that (even if Cale totally does).

  
"Well if he wants to talk to me badly enough, he can put some fucking effort in and find me himself."

  
"Adam is a prince, Kris. Princes don't go out of their way to find people."

  
"Well then it's no wonder princes have to buy their boyfriends. If he asks where I am, you can tell him. If he doesn't ask, he can go fuck himself." Kris turns and walks away remembering at the last minute that Adam won't have to fuck himself because he can just fuck Brad who hasn't punched him and isn't going to sit around like an idiot waiting for Adam to come to his senses first.

  
Maybe Kris should just wait for Simon and go home. It should be clear by now that Adam won't fight for him.

  
No matter how much Kris wishes otherwise.

Thirty  
Kris doesn't attend court. Tommy finds him mid morning sitting by the lake and tells him that Adam did it, after a half hour shouting match with the queen in the middle of the throne room. Apparently all the staff had been sent out of earshot very quickly, but the brief exchange that had been heard was flying all over the castle.

  
'I'm not sending him away,' Adam had said. Kris has no idea what that's supposed to mean—he thought the queen liked Brad—but he doesn't see how it's supposed to affect him.

  
"He asked the queen where you were," Tommy explains, picking up a handful of stones and throwing them one by one into the water. "She wouldn't tell him. After court he tracked me down—you told me to tell him if he asked and he didn't ask so much as demand so I let him know where you're sleeping." Tommy drops a stone into Kris's outstretched hand and Kris throws it as far as he can. It's surprisingly therapeutic. "He went up to your room after that, I don't think he was planning to leave until he got a chance to talk to you."

  
"Right," Kris says, making a vague mental note to avoid his bedroom for the foreseeable future. "I guess I'll just stay out here all day then."

  
Tommy flashes a glance sideways, frowning a little. "And Cale said -"

  
Kris throws a second rock—considerably harder—at the mention of Cale. Tommy ignores it.

  
"Cale said he was playing guitar in one of the side rooms and a nobleman came in to ask if he was the prince's minstrel because he wanted to get a good listen before the bidding started."

  
Kris snatches a third rock, but hesitates before throwing it in the lake to toss it from hand to hand. "I thought I was being sold to Simon. Who the fuck is this new guy?"

  
"I don't know. Maybe the queen doesn't think Fuller will want you back. I don't think who you're sold to matters to her as much as getting you away from her son as soon as possible. Of course, Adam's refusal to agree to any kind of date or price or make a single concrete decision isn't helping."

  
Kris rolls his eyes. The prince is incapable of making a decision and incapable of knowing what he wants and incapable of saying something before it's too late. How not-even-slightly shocking. "It doesn't matter anyway," he says, thinking aloud. "Even if he somehow does the most amazing thing in the world and wins me back which isn't going to happen because he's an asshole. I still can't be his consort, the queen would throw a fit."

  
"So go back to Simon." Tommy snaps, unusually harsh as he drops the rest of his stones and pushes himself up. "Leave, be happy."

  
"I don't—" Kris starts, no idea what he's going to follow it with. I don't want to leave? I don't know what to do? I don't know how to be happy? "Tommy -?"

  
"Punching people doesn't solve problems, Kris. Talking to people solves problems." He jumps down off the rocky ledge and onto the lawn, walking through the carefully maintained flower beds with his head held high.

  
Kris throws his rock fiercely into the water and doesn't go after him. What's his problem, anyway? It isn't like Kris has ever asked to leave. In fact, Kris has never asked for anything except for a simple life and maybe for Brad to die in a fire somewhere.

  
And Tommy can't talk about punching people not solving problems after laying into Brad. The fucking hypocrite.

  
Kris pulls his shirt off with one hand, kicks his trousers off, stands tall and dives into the lake. A few of the gardeners give him strange looks, but he finds he doesn't care. He's got nothing they haven't seen before.

  
And he's not staying, anyway. He's just waiting for Simon. Simon, Archie and Cook coming to take him back to his old life. Sitting in the kitchen, strumming his guitar in the garden—he wonders briefly if Adam will let him keep the new guitar, but it seems unlikely—like nothing ever changed.

  
'Except,' Kris reflects, thinking about Adam and dreams of Adam and sex with Adam. 'Everything's changed already.'

  
Because Adam's an asshole, but Kris still misses him more than he would ever admit.

*

He still can't sleep. He stays in the lake for an hour, lies behind the rock—out of sight from everywhere that isn't the servants quarters in the north tower—and lets the sun dry him for most of the afternoon.

  
LP visits in the afternoon, Tommy must have told him where to go. "Allison came to invite Adam to her party tomorrow night," he says. "They went out on the town with Brad."

  
Of course Brad went with them. Adam probably can't wait to take Brad to the party. Considering the amount of make-up Brad apparently thinks of as 'every day wear' his party get-up must be something pretty damn fabulous.

  
Adam must be so proud to have Brad on his arm and as his dance partner and in his bed.

  
Kris pushes himself up on his elbows. "Why are you telling me?" As far as he can remember LP has never so much as spoken to him before.

  
"A friend asked me to," LP says, apparently intending to be ambiguous but blatantly talking about Tommy. So Tommy either thinks Kris is being too much of an idiot to be worth talking to or is too busy fucking Cale to make time. How nice to have friends. "He said if you were being a dense idiot I should add that this means your bedroom is empty and you need to sleep because you are human and that is what humans do."

  
Kris falls back on the beach. "Tell Tommy I said thank you."

  
LP kicks his foot. "Talk to Adam."

  
Apparently that's all anyone ever says to Kris anymore. Kris has spent all day thinking about it and the one thing he is fairly sure he wants to say to Adam starts with 'good' and ends with either 'bye' or a punch to the face.

  
They both seem like good options. They're certainly better than the other tiny idea which involves snatching Adam away in the dead of night and kissing him until Brad isn't even a memory.

  
Eventually LP leaves. Kris stays on the beach until the stars come out—singing softly to himself to pass the time. Very softly, because all he can write is stupid love songs when he should be writing 'fuck off and die' songs.

  
He doesn't go to bed. He walks around the gardens in the moonlight, swims in the lake, doesn't think about the big empty bed in the unfamiliar room which will be cold and lonely.

  
He has wet hair. You shouldn't sleep with wet hair and it isn't an excuse it's a reason even when the moon is starting to go down and his hair has been dry for an hour at least.

  
Part of him wants to go back and complain to Tommy some more—why can't Adam make a fucking decision? Why is setting him free so much worse than selling him? Why the fuck did Adam finally say the three words Kris has been fucking waiting for the whole time and why the fuck did he wait to do it until he was sure it was completely and utterly way too late for anything to come of it?

  
Not that Tommy would have any answers. In fact, Kris can probably go through the whole conversation in his head and Tommy's part is something along the lines of 'Why the fuck are you asking me? Talk to Adam.'

  
He hasn't got anything to say to Adam. Well, he has a hundred thousand things to say to Adam but he can't put any of them into words and he's leaving soon anyway so Adam can forget him and move on or whatever. Adam will have Brad and Kris will have...

  
Kris will have no one. As always.

  
He throws a handful of stones one by one into the lake, the splashes getting larger and larger until one of the kitchen staff flings their window open and threatens to call security. Kris throws the rest of his handful, kicks a rock—which hurts like fuck—then goes to talk to his fucking prince.

  
Of course he forgets—right up until the moment where he's actually opened Adam's door—that Brad will be there too.

  
Thankfully, the room is dark, even though when Kris slept with Adam he hated keeping the curtains shut. He said he liked to fall asleep to starlight (and then sung a couple of bars of the most amazing song that even now makes Kris's heart ache a little) but apparently Brad's needs are more important.

  
Kris doesn't want to wake the wrong person though so he crosses to the window and tugs the curtains sideways a little so that the light from the sunrise falls on the bed.

  
He sees Brad first. He looks younger with his make-up washed off, more human. There are tattoos on his arm where it lies on top of the covers, reaching across the bed to rest on the flat, empty expanse of mattress beside him.

  
Empty. Aside from Brad, the whole room is empty. He pulls both curtains wide—just to check—but the prince is nowhere to be seen. The silver moonlight shines on the cleared desk, the four wardrobes, Brad's bags in a neat pile in the corner, Brad stirring on the bed, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes. "What the -?"

  
"Adam," Kris says, without thinking. "Where is he?"

  
Brad blinks a few more times. "With you," he says, slowly.

  
"What?"

  
"Why wouldn't he be with you?"

  
Kris can think of a lot of answers to that. 'Because he's in love with you', 'because I'm not good enough', 'because I was only ever there to fill the gap you left behind.'

  
What comes out of his mouth is somewhat less coherent. "What?"

Thirty One  
Brad frowns, pushing himself up into a sitting position and reaching sideways to light the lamp. "You are his consort, right?"

  
"You're his boyfriend."

  
Brad laughs, a real, out loud, I can't believe you just said that it's hilarious, laugh. "Kris, Adam and I have been over ever since I walked out the door."

  
Kris shakes his head, sitting on the windowsill as Brad drags a hand back through his hair, sending it sticking up in all directions. "He kissed you," Kris says. "I was standing on the fucking staircase, he was supposed to be mine—he'd just almost admitted that he was mine and then you came back and you were all he cared about and he kissed you."

  
For a moment he thinks Brad's going to laugh again—and if he does, Kris swears he will punch the man so hard that Tommy's beating will be forgotten and screw not messing up his fucking boyfriend-kissing face—"This is Adam, we're talking about," Brad says, the laugh dying very quickly and he talks fast, as though he can see how close he is to a beating. "He kisses hello, he kisses goodbye. He's a tactile kind of person and it's not like it was a real kiss did you—" he glances up then shakes his head with a sigh. "No. Of course you didn't watch. It was possibly the least romantic kiss in history."

  
"Romantic is kind of the definition of a kiss."

  
Brad shakes his head again, apparently frustrated that his point isn't getting across. "It's not like that. Adam has spent his whole life kissing people. You can watch him greet every woman in the court with a kiss on the cheek or a kiss on the hand and it's just another part of being the prince." His eyes flash up. "But when he kisses _your_ cheek, when he kisses _your_ hand, the whole world stops."

  
"You're not making any sense," Kris snaps, trying not to believe Brad—it would be so easy—because Brad is on Adam's side, whatever damn angle Adam is playing, and he's tired of being led. "This is his bedroom, where he sleeps so he put you here so he could sleep with you. He loves you, he said it. He must have said it a thousand times since I came here. I look like you, that's the only reason why he chose me. I look like you, I have a similar accent and I happened to be there when he was feeling lonely."

  
"Yes," Brad says drily. "Adam waits three years then picks up the first short southerner he can find. You look like me because Adam has the least subtle type in history. That's why he chose me, why he briefly dated Cassidy and why he's taking Drake to parties. That's also why he never seriously tried to date Tommy, who is the gayest apparently-straight person I have ever met."

  
"Because of the accent?"

  
Brad laughs, pulling his legs up and tapping the bed to indicate that Kris should sit there. "I don't know where you got the opinion that Adam isn't often somewhat shallow, but it's cute. As for the room thing, this used to be my room. Maybe Adam moved in permanently after I left, but those three wardrobes are still full of all the clothes I left behind." As he moves to point at the three wardrobes Kris's clothes aren't in, the covers fall off his chest to reveal the dark purple bruising on his skin.

  
Kris can't help wincing a little. "Tommy didn't have to do that for me."

  
Brad taps the bed again. "He didn't do it for you. He did it because I failed at being who everyone wanted me to be." His smile dies a little. "I failed at being what Adam wanted me to be."

  
Kris stands up slowly, moving to sit down at the very end of the bed—as far from Brad as possible. "Because you left. But he still loved you."

  
Brad pulls the covers up over his bruises. "Love is hard to fall out of. He still loves me, I still love him but we wouldn't get back together. Too much has been done, too much has been said. Adam values loyalty, he believes in putting the person you love before everything." He drags a hand slowly through his hair. "I hate being tied down. I... the palace is amazing and anything I asked for I got but it wasn't right for me. I wanted to see the world, I wanted to travel and stand on a stage. I wanted the world to know me for me, not for being the prince's consort."

  
"Did you regret leaving?"

  
He thinks for a long moment while Kris pulls his legs up onto the bed and tries not to be amazed by the fact that he's actually having a civilised conversation with Brad.

  
Brad who Adam isn't dating or sleeping with, but he is determinably not thinking about that because he'll get his hopes up and then Simon will be here to take him away and he won't even get to say goodbye.

  
He can't afford to start hoping now. Adam has broken his heart enough for a lifetime.

  
"Sometimes," Brad says. "Sometimes I would be sleeping in a gutter in some distant city and wishing for silk sheets. Sometimes I drank too much and went home with a boy and when I woke up he was gone. Sometimes I thought maybe I'd never find love again, I thought I'd given up my one chance at happiness." He smiles slightly, leaning back. "But then there were times when I didn't regret a thing. Sailing into the sunset, a six month affair with a burlesque dancer, living my life the way I'd always imagined it. If it hadn't been for Adam, I'd never have left home. If I hadn't left Adam, I'd never have seen the world."

  
Brad seems the type to get drunk and follow boys home. He definitely seems the type to have a six month affair with a burlesque dancer and Kris smiles a little at the idea, even if he can't imagine wanting it himself. He has no desire to sleep in gutters in foreign cities. Give him a guitar and a hall full of friends any day.

  
"He's probably my best friend," Brad adds. "I thought maybe I'd burnt this bridge but I was in town so I thought... we didn't part on good terms, I kept thinking I should write or send a messenger but you know how you never know how to start so you just keep putting it off and off and off and then it's too late."

  
"Well," Kris says, aiming for levity and missing. "You couldn't have been in town at a worse time."

  
"No." He looks genuinely sorry. "I... I'm sorry for fucking this up. I didn't even realise who you were until Adam said you had to leave my room. I should've said something then but I needed to eat and then I ended up talking to Adam for hours—mostly about you—so when I finally tracked you down I had already messed everything up without even trying."

  
"He talked about me? To you?"

  
Brad laughs. "I was trying to avoid talking about my past. I tried asking about music, court policies, how Allison was doing and he just kept twisting it back to 'why were you gone for so long, why didn't you write?' I make one small remark about the cute guy sitting on the stairs and suddenly he can talk for hours about this man he heard playing guitar down south, how he thought you were consort to this older man who was just using and manipulating you, how he staged a daring rescue by cheating at a card game and then was proved monumentally wrong about the whole thing."

  
Against his better instincts, Kris finds himself warming to Brad. There is something about his laugh, his constant smile and his wide honest-looking brown eyes. He seems about as unlike Kris as it's possible to be but he hasn't tried to make Kris feel inferior, he hasn't suggested that Kris is pathetic for wanting to stay with Adam.

  
"And then you said you were in love with him," Brad finishes as Kris zones back in. "In the music room and I knew he was in love with you so I assumed the two of you were off having wild sex in some private bedroom and he was just too nervous about having the current boyfriend and the ex boyfriend in the same room to let us meet much."

  
"Boyfriend? I've always been 'the consort'." He frowns a little, suddenly realising what seems off about Brad. "Were you a slave before you met Adam?" He doesn't act like a slave, not even one three years free, and he doesn't seem to have ever thought of Adam as anything less than a partner.

  
Brad laughs, stretching his legs out so his toes nudge Kris's leg. "No way. I met Adam at a club, we had a string of one night stands. It was agreed that the public would probably be more accepting if I was introduced as a paid-for consort. Adam bought my freedom for three silver pieces, a copper coin, a nail he found on the floor and a drink. Obviously that's not what we told the queen."

  
It's Kris's turn to laugh, but his is dry and humour free. "He's avoiding me. Or maybe I'm avoiding him. I don't even know anymore. Everything was starting to work out but then you came along and I thought he was leaving me so everything went to shit—"

  
"But he wasn't leaving you, so everything should be okay now."

  
Kris shakes his head. "It isn't that simple. Nothing's that simple. He's a prince, I'm a slave. Nobody is okay with our relationship."

  
Brad shrugs. "So ask for your freedom. It's not hard, you're clearly devoted to him, I bet if you ask he'd give it."

  
Kris wonders if Brad has any idea how his actions fucked that idea up for future generations, Adam won't just set someone free because they might leave for three years and then come back and fuck up whatever he's doing at that moment. "He won't. He's selling me, it's decided. He had the choice between setting me free and selling me and he went for selling me."

  
"That doesn't sound like Adam."

  
"Well, maybe he isn't the guy you knew anymore." Kris pushes himself to his feet. "So I'm going back to where I was before Adam 'rescued' me. I'm going to live out my life as a single minstrel and you can send me a post card and let me know if you ever find love again, just so I know it's possible."

  
"Have you tried talking to him?"

  
Kris wishes everyone would stop giving the same advice. "That's what I was trying to do now. You've cleared up a lot of things, thank you. I think... I don't know. I think maybe it would be better if I don't see him again. A clean break, you know." He's already standing and halfway to the door. He doesn't need Brad to get his hopes up any further—he's being sold, he's being sold, he's practically Simon's already and people need to stop suggesting otherwise—so he just needs to find somewhere to wait for Simon to come.

  
"You don't think you should at least try?"

  
"I'm tired of always being the one who tries. Relationships end." He pulls open the door, glancing back briefly to see Brad watching him. "Are you going to leave him again?"

  
Brad sighs very slightly. "We both are, it seems."

  
"Maybe he'll learn something."

  
"If you could've lived your whole life without learning how to be lonely, would you have been happy?"

  
Kris closes the door before he has to find an answer.

Thirty two  
Kris goes back to his temporary bedroom, grabs his guitar then leaves to find the first empty space to sit and play nothing. " _Unspoken, in silence, I'll stay here tonight..."_

  
Brad is on Adam's side because he still loves Adam—and maybe it isn't romantic and maybe that doesn't matter—and wants Adam to have whatever he wants. He wants Adam to not feel pain or heartbreak or all those feelings everyone else has to deal with.

  
If Kris gives in now, if he goes to talk to Adam and lets Adam explain everything away. If he convinces Adam to fight the queen so he can stay Adam's consort. If he listens when Adam says 'I love you' and let the prince pull him towards the bed he will keep giving things up.

  
He will keep standing in the shadows, watching and not saying a word while Adam makes mistakes. He will keep pushing back when people try to push him away and only further their convictions that they're right. He will keep cutting Adam slack because Adam is a prince and expects everything to be easy, expects Kris to be easy.

  
He will keep holding up the roof until the day he has to stand in the shadows and watch Adam slip away. Because he loves Adam. Because he wants Adam to be happy. Because he wants to stay here with the man he loves.

  
He will lose everything he has, because Adam doesn't understand that if he keeps taking and taking, soon there'll be nothing of Kris left.

  
So he has to remember the important things. He has to remember that Adam chose to sell him rather than set him free. He has to remember that Brad might be lying and Tommy is Adam's best friend and just because Kris didn't actually see Adam kiss Brad doesn't mean it didn't happen.

  
Kris didn't get a handful of silver and a copper coin. He didn't even get a drink. He has followed behind, done what was asked and fallen in love while Adam smiled and did nothing.

  
It won't work. It can't work. " _I've got a different ending to our story."_

  
Adam isn't sleeping with Brad, hasn't been sleeping with Brad, but just because it isn't Brad doesn't mean it won't be someone else. It'll be Drake, in a moment of weakness, or Tommy because someone expects it. The queen will keep insinuating that Kris isn't good enough until everyone starts to believe it.

  
Kris already believes it, Adam can't be far behind. _"I know it's hard for you to hear, but listen as I read."_

  
Nothing fits together. There are verses and a chorus in these chords somewhere but all he can think of is that he has no idea what love means anymore. It was supposed to mean wanting Adam to be happy, but it doesn't mean wanting Brad to come back. It was supposed to mean going after him no matter what, but it shouldn't be giving up everything.

  
" _I forgot what love is..._ " he trails off because what comes next is wrong. He wants to say 'bring it back' but he never had it. Adam never...

  
 _"Take your love, bring it back, bring it back."_

  
He pushes the guitar away so hard it hits a bookshelf with a crack, one of the strings snapping clean in two.

  
That's when the tears finally come.

  
It's over.

  
The sound of hooves distracts him and he stands up to walk over to the window. This room overlooks the front courtyard where a rider has just arrived on a horse that looks exhausted, as though it's been raced to its limit. The horse is clearly of the highest stock, the rider is wearing a brand new brown travelling cloak but he drops off the saddle to the ground as though he doesn't ride often.

  
Servants rush quickly from the house to take the reins of the house and bow to the stranger, one of them runs inside, presumably to fetch whoever this man has raced so fast to meet.

  
He reaches up one hand to brush the hood back from his head and Kris recognises him instantly. Simon Fuller, shrewdly examining the courtyard and crossing to his horse to grab his bulging saddlebags before the servants can start to unload. The canvas stretches a little around the opening and Kris sees a flash of gold.

  
Simon Fuller, come to buy his minstrel and take him home. Kris wipes his eyes with the back of one hand. He has to go down, he has to make his greetings then take Simon to the queen to get all of this seen through. The sooner it happens, the less likely he is to run into Adam and the easier this whole thing will be.

  
A few more hours, a few more meetings, then it's really truly over. His last memory of Adam will be the words _'I love you,'_ and everything in him will regret this forever but it's the only way.

  
" _If I had you_ ," Adam's voice is just as pure as Kris remembers, just as pitch perfect, slow and beautiful. " _That would be the only thing I'd ever need._  
 _If I had you, then money fame and fortune never could compete_  
 _If I had you, life you be a party it'd be ecstasy._  
 _If I had—"_

  
Kris turns away from the now-empty courtyard to see Adam standing in the doorway. His face is clean of makeup, he's wearing a simple black jumper and trousers, he is _here_. Kris bites down on everything he wishes he could say, regrets and questions and love.

  
"Did you write that one for Brad too?"

Thirty three  
The slight optimism on Adam's face dies and his eyes drop away from Kris's face as he reaches up to drag a hand back through his hair. "No, of course not, I've been... It's been going round in my head for a while now. It's not finished, I just wanted you to hear it. I'm supposed to be getting ready for this party at Allison's but I needed you to hear it."

  
He looks genuinely upset which is ruining Kris's plan of emotional distance and getting away as fast as possible so he turns back to the window where he doesn't have to see Adam's face. "Well I've heard it and I'd hate to take up any more of your vital preparation time so you can go back to wherever you're living these days now."

  
"I've been looking for you," Adam interrupts. "I thought Tommy gave me the wrong room because you weren't there at all yesterday but then I slept there and the bed smelt of you but you didn't come back and I needed to see you so I was searching the castle today and I couldn't find you anywhere." In the window, Adam's reflection takes half a step forward. Luckily, it's too bright outside for Kris to see the reflection's face. "I don't think I've ever been in this room before." He stops long enough for Kris to see a second rider arrive, dismount and pass the reigns of his horse to a waiting servant. The guitar on his back betrays his identity as Monte, the only person who would ever carry one all the way across the country and back. He must've been the person to take the message to Simon.

  
"I talked to Brad," Adam says, too quickly. "I was never sleeping with him, not since he left I swear. He said you thought... but I wouldn't. It didn't work between us, it's over between us." He takes another step closer.

  
"I know," Kris says, keeping his voice level. "He said. He also said something about you kissing everyone and I didn't see what I thought I saw. But it doesn't matter what I saw or didn't see. You still kissed him."

  
"I still—" Adam hesitates and for a moment Kris expects another pathetic excuse. Then Adam just drops his head to stare at his hands. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I... I fucked up."

  
"Yeah. You did." Monte glances at the gates then heads for the main doors.

  
"I love you." It's said so quietly, in a low broken voice. "Kris, I—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I was excited and relieved and I wasn't thinking."

  
"See, if you can forget me the moment an old 'friend' walks in through the door, that's a problem. That's a pretty major problem, really, because in a relationship your partner's supposed to be the most important thing." He rests against the windowsill and looks into Adam's eyes. "So I was wondering if you thought of me as your slave or your partner. Seeing that made it pretty clear that I was only ever your slave."

  
Adam shakes his head. "No, you're not. I just made a mistake and... and I'll do anything. Anything to make it up to you. Just tell me what you want."

  
"You know, it's funny that you're asking that because I told you a while back—at that party where you sang and broke my heart the first time—and it really hasn't changed." He turns back to the window, away from Adam's slightly raised head and hopeful expression. "I want to matter, Adam."

  
Adam's head jerks all the way up. "You do matter, Kris. Of course you matter. I love you."

  
Kris shakes his head slowly. "It doesn't work like that, Adam. You can't just say it, you have to prove it. You have to prove it without me asking. You have to come in here with more than a snatch of a song to make one last vague attempt at reconciliation before the bidding starts."

  
He is supposed to be keeping emotional distance but Adam's complete lack of an answer to this statement pushes Kris to the limit and he finds himself spinning round and shouting. "And what the fuck is up with that, anyway? Your mother asks who I'd like to be sold to—after you don't so much as _mention_ the plan to me—and I explain that all things considered if I have to be sold I'd like to go back to Simon. Next thing I know Cale is being confronted by total strangers who are apparently here because whoever has the biggest pile of gold gets the prince's pet minstrel, my preferences be damned."

  
"You talked to Cale?" Adam says, focusing—as always—on the least important thing.

  
"I talked to Tommy," Kris says, not lowering his voice. "Tommy's fucking Cale."

  
"Tommy's... what?"

  
If Adam was two steps closer Kris would fucking break his nose again. "Open your fucking eyes, Adam." Adam's still standing there like someone's pulled a rug out from under his feet and Kris just wishes he could stop being such an idiot and say the right thing for once.

  
Kris has no idea what the right thing is, but Adam should know. Adam is supposed to know.

  
Nothing is forthcoming. "Maybe if you put a bit more effort into your seduction techniques he'll take my job once I'm gone." Kris shakes his head and turns away, blinking fiercely. "When's that likely to be, anyway? Because I was hoping I could just leave with Simon but if you're determined to fill your treasury even higher while you fuck my life up even more I guess it might take longer."

  
"It's not about the money," Adam says, but doesn't elaborate.

  
Kris closes his fingers tight on the window frame. "Then why, Adam. Why sell me at all? Why call noblemen from all over the country just so you can parade me in front of them and have them bid on me like cattle? Why not just _set me free?_ "

  
The last question bursts out of him. It's a ridiculous question; no one sets a slave free just because they want it but all he can think is that Adam set Brad free.

  
"I can't," Adam takes two steps back, shaking his head. "Kris, I can't... I don't want to lose you."

  
Kris's knuckles are turning white, he's holding the wooden sill so tightly. Adam has moved out of punching distance, but if he doesn't expect it Kris could get a few strikes in before he had a chance to defend himself. "You've lost me, Adam. You've agreed to fucking sell me, you will never see me again, why go through all the rigmarole of selling me when it doesn't fucking matter to anyone but -?"

  
"Because it takes longer!" Adam interrupts, before Kris can finish, the reflection in the window throwing it's arms up and making Kris very glad he can't see Adam's face. "Because I could set you free in an instant and then you'd be gone. You'd just vanish out of that door and there'd be no letters, no one to ask and maybe in three years you'd come back to let me know you're still alive." He shakes his head. "I just needed more time."

  
"You've had time." A few servants spill into the courtyard, as though they're looking for something. Kris wonders if they're looking for him, if they're ready to send him away. "What did you need it for?"

  
Adam stars to move forward, then thinks better of it. "I couldn't find the right thing to say." He sinks back against the wall. "I never knew what to say, I let other people dictate our relationship. I let a promise from three years ago almost break us up because I was scared of what people would think. I let my mum almost break us up because I was scared of what you would think. I never knew how to tell you how important you were to me." He leans his head back. "Then Mum said you were fine with leaving and you had no regrets and I thought maybe I could cope if you were just going back to... you were happy there. I thought maybe I could be happy for you."

  
Kris remembers briefly thinking maybe he could be happy for Adam and Brad, happy that Adam was happy. "And were you?"

  
"No." He drags a hand through his hair. "I was jealous, angry and upset and would it kill you to at least pretend to be trying, here? You're acting like this is unfixable but if you'd just try—"

  
Kris releases the window ledge to spin around, but Adam is too far away to conveniently punch. "You want me to try?" he says, hearing the incredulous tones in his own voice. "You think I haven't been trying hard enough?"

  
Adam's eyes flash up to meet his. "You've talked to everyone but me, you've been avoiding me and now I'm here you won't meet my eyes. You won't tell me what to do, you're not helping you're just standing there getting in the way. You need to talk to me when you're upset or pissed or whatever, Kris. You need to give me a chance to explain. That's how a relationship works, don't you know that."

  
"No," Kris snaps before Adam can carry on. "No, I don't. Don't you get it, I have never been in a relationship before. I have never been in love before. Part of me expected to be celibate until the day I died. How am I supposed to know how this works?" He slowly unclenches his fists. "All I know is I'm tired of being fucked around with. I'm tired of not knowing whether I'm coming or going. I'm tired of people telling me I'm not in love with you like if they say it enough times it'll be true. I want to matter, Adam, I want you to love me the way you loved him."

  
Adam scoffs. "What, you want screaming and fighting and sleeping in separate rooms? You want a brief whirlwind romance and then years of struggling with something that was always too big to work. You want to leave in the dead of night and cart a trunk full of regrets everywhere you go."

  
Kris shakes his head fiercely. "I want unconditional. I want completely, forever, to the exclusion of everything else. I want you to love me enough to set me free."

  
Adam shakes his head, but the anger dies from his eyes, replaced by sadness and regret. "I can try harder," he says. "I can't... I mean you could stay. There's no law against you being my consort, my mother would have to come around eventually. You don't have to leave." He isn't wearing any make-up, not even kohl around the eyes, and he looks younger because of it. He's still beautiful and he wants to try...

  
But he didn't hesitate before setting Brad free. He still thinks that Kris will walk away the moment he has the chance, still thinks love isn't enough.

  
"I don't think so, Adam. Maybe all this is just proof that we don't work. Maybe we're not meant to be together."

  
Adam's eyes flash. "Don't," he says. "Don't you dare pull 'fate' on me. Say we're incompatible, say I messed up, say you just don't fucking like me but don't you dare say you're leaving because we're not _meant to be._ "

  
"Fine." Kris stares directly into Adam's face. This is the hardest thing he has ever had to say, but he forces it out because he can't be Adam's pet forever. He can't spend the rest of his life Adam's property with nothing in return. "We're incompatible, you fucked up, I don't like you." The hope dies in Adam's eyes. "I'm leaving because you're selling me." He pushes away from the window but can't help adding in an undertone as he pushes past. "And that's the only reason."

  
"Wait," Adam says. "What would it take to convince you? What would I have to do?"

  
Kris shakes his head. "You'd have to have done it already. You'd have to have done it without needing to ask."

  
Adam's face falls and he swallows, nodding slowly. "There's this party tonight," he says, his voice hitching a little. "You could come with me. I won't try to talk you out of it, I won't do anything. Just give me one last dance before you leave."

  
"I'm sorry." Kris takes half a step away from the door. "You're out of time."

  
Adam blinks fiercely, but nods. "If you change your mind, come find me." He steps forward and slowly—as though he's not sure if he's allowed—leans in to drop a soft kiss on Kris's cheek. "I love you."

  
Kris stands tall until the door swings shut behind Adam, then his legs give way and he collapses to the floor.

  
He was wrong, there are plenty more tears.

Thirty Four  
A servant finds him the moment he steps into the main hall having cleaned himself up as best as he could. The young man looks somewhat stressed, so Kris doesn't protest when—instead of asking—the man just grabs Kris's arm and drags him towards the small antechamber just off the throne room that the family use when speaking to someone they don't want to intimidate too much.

  
The king and queen are in there already, on thrones that are about half as imposing as those in the main hall (which is still at least three times as imposing as the rest of the seats scattered around the room). Kris can barely remember seeing the king before—just a flash of gold before he knelt and kept his head lowered for the rest of their meeting—but there is no denying the way he holds his head and the rich red cloak that cascades over his shoulders.

  
He looks like Adam. The same broad shoulders, head held high in the same way.

  
One day, Adam will sit on the throne in the main room. He will wear the crown inlaid with rubies (or perhaps the one that's currently in storage with the sapphires, since he prefers blue) and sit on the dais looking down at his subjects.

  
If Kris ever sees him again, he won't be able to walk up to him. He won't be able to incline his head and receive a kiss to the cheek or the hand in reply. He will be expected to fall to his knees, bow his head.

  
It's good that Adam won't let him stay. It's good. Kris could never be a king.

  
He keeps reminding himself of this because it helps him fight the urge to cry.

  
The queen folds her hands on her lap and coughs very slightly to draw attention. "Do I have to walk you through the correct procedure for being presented to your king and queen, Kristopher?"

  
Kris meets her eyes with his head held high, just to see her lips purse in anger. "You can try," he says simply. "But I only bow to people I respect."

  
He knelt to her once because Adam asked him to, because back then he did as he was told. Now he is Adam's consort and he knows what that means. If they tried to make him bow now, he would walk up onto that dais and look down on both of them.

  
"Then I suppose it is not worth mentioning that even common folk are expected to kneel and you—Kristopher—are no more than a slave."

  
Kris smiles at her, just to see her expression sour even further. "And yet, as Adam has not yet seen fit to demote me, I still retain the authority to stand in his place. Or does that only work when you need someone to do your job?"

  
"I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head and remember who in this room has control over your life."

  
"Funny, I don't see the prince anywhere in this room."

  
"I could have you sent down to the dungeons and keep you there until you rot, without my son being any the wiser."

  
"I think he'd find out." Kris looks up at her and she glares back at him and the animosity is thick enough to be cut with a knife.

  
Then the king starts laughing, a whole lot less imposing now he has Adam's smile lighting up his face. "You're more feisty than I remember," he says to Kris.

  
Kris finds himself smiling back. It somewhat ruins his proud demeanour, but the king looks so like Adam and if Adam was here he would probably be laughing too. "I have found that punching my superiors does wonders for my ego, my king."

  
"So that's why my son's nose has been rather less central of late." The king stood up and took the two steps down to Kris's level so he could hold out a hand. "Eber Lambert."

  
Kris has no idea what to do now he's got this far. The king is taller even than Adam and his hand dwarves Kris's. "Kris," Kris says.

  
The king smiles warmly before taking one of the simple chairs on the floor. "Lord Fuller, you may rise."

  
Kris spins in surprise in time to see Simon push himself up off one knee and onto his feet. He keeps his head lowered, but darts a glance sideways at Kris and smiles a small smile.

  
Kris smiles back, fighting down the urge to run over and hug him or cry a welcome.

  
The king glances backwards to where the queen is still sitting stiffly on her throne. "Leila, perhaps you would like to join me?"

  
The queen looked at Kris, then rose slowly and walked down to sit on the wooden chair beside her husband, crossing her legs and placing her hands gracefully on her knee. "Lord Fuller, I trust my messenger found you well."

  
Simon laughs, and raises his head the rest of the way. He looks good, Kris thinks, healthy. His clothes are all new, and he appears to be well fed for the first time in Kris's memory. "We passed each other on the road, I believe. I was heading down anyway after the prince's servant visited. Your man was kind enough to loan me his horse, since mine was exhausted, and then I believe he planned to wait and travel down in the carriage with my two other slaves."

  
So Monte hadn't been sent by the queen. Kris frowns and glances at the queen who looks just as confused as he does. "My son sent a messenger to you? What did he say?"

  
Simon tilts his head a little. "I think the same thing your messenger was trying to say. The prince had to sell Kris due to unforeseen circumstances and he was hoping to send him back to somewhere familiar. I believe Monte also mentioned something about the prince needing to know where Kris was."

  
That wasn't expected. Kris glances sideways at Simon but he doesn't appear to be making this up. Why would Adam need to know where Kris was after selling him? Why would it matter?

  
The answer—because he never knew where Brad was—is as obvious as it is frustrating. Brad wanted to see the world; Kris wants to be happy, secure, home.

  
"We are, of course, expecting a payment from you," the queen is speaking again. "I am not sure how much Adam left, but he has requested a return of fifty gold coins."

  
"The prince left a far grander sum than that," Simon says quickly. "Of course, I would be happy to recompense the entirety of it if that is what the castle requires."

  
The queen is already rising to her feet, eyes blazing slightly. "Excuse me, I must go have a word with my—"

  
"Leila," the king interrupted, placing a steadying hand on her elbow and rising to stand beside her, stopping her from going anywhere. "That is the price Adam set, so that is the price Lord Fuller is expected to pay. Any disparities between the two amounts can be attributed to Lord Fuller as an apology for any inconvenience." He glances past her to Kris and Simon. "And perhaps a small percentage could be transferred to the slave, to thank him for his patience the last few weeks."

  
"I can pay more," Simon says, eyes darting nervously between the queen and the king. "I'll pay anything, my king, we just want him back home."

  
The king successfully guides the queen back to her seat. "My son specified that if you came the price would be fifty gold coins, paid to him in person, and then Kris here would be returned to you. If you are prepared to enter into this deal with him, you simply need to stay the night and tomorrow we will be able to arrange for a meeting between the two of you—"

  
Kris's head darts up. "Tomorrow?" he interrupts. "Why not tonight? Why not right now?"

  
Simon reaches out one hand to touch his wrist in a gesture that is clearly meant to be reassurance and a small warning that acting like this in front of royalty is generally considered a bad idea. "I can stay one night, Kris."

  
"I'm sorry," the king says softly. "But Adam specified that the deal had to happen face to face and he's heading out to a party as we speak. I can make arrangements for departure first thing tomorrow morning, but I'm afraid one more night is not negotiable."

  
"We'd have to wait anyway," Simon explains in a low voice. "Archie and Cook are coming in the carriage. They should get here tomorrow and we can return with them. I don't want to imagine how disappointed Archie would be if he came this far and didn't even get to see the castle."

  
Kris forces a smile. He's right, and if Adam specified one more night then Kris can avoid him for one more night. "Very well," he says, polite and demure because he is practically Simon's now—he can almost feel it—and Simon's household cannot afford the sort of shame Kris's actions must be bringing to it. "Tomorrow then. If I may retire?"

  
The king nods. "It has been a pleasure to finally meet you, Kris."

  
Kris notes that the king uses his shortened name, the only name he really feels any ownership of, and likes him even more. "My Lord," he says, inclining his head to Simon and the queen. "My queen." He pauses, then drops into the consort's bow Tommy taught him so long ago. Sure, it's uncomfortable and painful but it shows respect and this might be the last time he ever gets the do it. "My king."

  
He rises and exits alongside Simon who pulls him into a tight hug the moment the doors close. "You're coming home, for practically no payment, can you believe it?"

  
He doesn't smell of home. Just of sweat, new clothes and horses. Kris holds him tight for a moment then steps back. "It was never about the money."

  
Simon's brow creases as he frowns. "Are you alright? They took my bags up to a room somewhere, do you want to go up and talk?"

  
Kris cannot think of anything he wants to do less. "No, I'm fine, I'm amazing, I'm going home, it's fantastic," even to his own ears the words sound false. Trying too hard, forcing a smile. "I just need to say goodbye to a few people, then get an early night." He steps in for another awkward hug. "We'll talk tomorrow. In the carriage. I can't wait to see Cook and Archie, and to get back to my home and my guitar."

  
Simon opens his mouth to say something, but Kris walks backwards before he can start and ducks down a side passage. He half runs down three concealed passageways before remembering that there's nothing to escape from.

  
One more night. One more night then he's going home. He should pack some things, but the only thing he can think of that he might want to take is the guitar that he broke.

  
He hesitates on a small flight of stairs. If Adam and Brad have already gone to the party, he could grab something from his old room. One of his outfits, maybe, or some of Adam's make-up. Something to remind him that this happened, that it wasn't all some crazy dream.

  
Decision made, he heads back down the stairs.

Thirty Five  
Kris's first thought is 'Brad's dyed his hair blue.'

  
His second thought is 'of course he has.'

  
Because Brad is never where Kris expects him to be, he is in the room—his room? Adam's room?—doing his make-up at Adam's vanity table. His hair is a bright peacock blue, sticking up messily on top of his head.

  
He is frowning in concentration as he carefully paints peacock feather patterns onto his eyelids but the moment it is done he drops the brush and turns around to grin at Kris. "Kris! Just the gorgeous brunette I wanted to see."

  
So Kris wasn't expecting Brad, it doesn't mean he's surprised—Brad, he has decided, is like a force of nature who just ends up wherever he feels like being (often at exactly the wrong moment)—and it certainly doesn't mean he isn't slightly pleased.

  
When he said he'd have to say goodbye to people, he'd just been looking for an excuse to get away from Simon, but now he felt vaguely apologetic that he hadn't been planning to say anything to Brad or Tommy, hadn't been planning to find Cale and get some kind of closure (be it a deep heartfelt conversation in which they forgave each others' sins or just an opportunity to break Cale's nose).

  
"I think Adam's all ready to go," he says, as Brad reaches behind him for some kind of metal contraption. "You'd better hurry."

  
Brad lowers the device so he can fix Kris with a 'did you really just say that' stare. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not with Adam before you believe it? He's already gone and he went on his own."

  
That doesn't sound like something Adam would ever do. "Why? Why not you or Tommy or Drake?"

  
Brad rolls his eyes dramatically. "Well he isn't taking me because it would be too awkward and hilarious for both of us, he isn't taking Tommy because Tommy is going with Cale and he isn't taking Drake because apparently someone gets the wrong impression when Adam goes dancing with escorts and he didn't want to disappoint that mysterious unnamed someone." He raises the metal device up to his eyes. It looks dangerous and he's so distracted by that, he barely realises what Brad is saying next. "So anyway, I was going to invite you."

  
"You were... what? Why?"

  
Brad shrugs, turning back to the mirror so he can continue attacking his eyelashes. "I have an invite, I get a plus one, you're not the worst company in the world." He beamed. "Just as friends, of course. You're not exactly my type. I don't have Adam's immunity to the evils of plaid."

  
"I can't," Kris says, almost before Brad has finished speaking. "I just can't. Adam will be there and I said I wouldn't go with him and I'm going home tomorrow so I can't see him because he might... I mean, I think he'll be happier when I'm gone. No more problems to deal with, he can just move on and I can move on and we'll both be... both be happier." It doesn't sound convincing. "I was going to leave without saying goodbye. It will be easier that way."

  
Brad drops the eyelash thing on the cracked mirror—the mirror is still cracked, which seems strange because surely Adam has servants to fix that kind of thing—and crosses to the bed. Kris doesn't even realise he's shaking until Brad has taken both his hands. "Leaving is easy, letting go is easy. Love is hard."

  
"I can't see him again," Kris says, his voice coming out strangely weak. "I'm tired of letting him break my heart. I can't do it anymore."

  
"That's your choice, honey." Brad leans in to kiss him. His lips are smooth, glossed in something from one of the pots on Adam's table. "You do what you think is right, okay?"

  
Kris smiles weakly at him as he takes half a step away, then reaches up to touch his own lips. "Was that an attempt to prove something?"

  
Brad beams. "Just evening out the playing field. So, did you just come in here to turn down my generous invitation to what is sure to be the most fantabulous party in the history of parties? Allison Iraheta's birthday as organised byPrince Adam Lambert."

  
Kris had almost forgotten why he came, but he remembers now and casts his eyes around the room looking for whatever. "I wasn't expecting you to be here. I was looking for something but I don't... I'm not sure what. Just something to remind myself that this wasn't all some kind of dream." He shakes his head. "I think maybe I should leave it."

  
"You will do no such thing." Brad releases his hands and darts around the room like a hyperactive puppy, pulling open Adam's wardrobe and drawers at random, rifling through glitter, feather and papers and somehow contrives to pull out an item Kris actually recognises.

  
A slim silver circlet and Kris remembers last seeing nestled in Adam's hair, settling off the blue streak and the ornate black coat.

  
Adam had been wearing this circlet when they ate together and he kept an arm around Kris's shoulders the whole time. He had been wearing it when he admitted to stealing Kris. He had been wearing it when he sang a song he'd written for Brad. It was a reminder of the good times and the bad times and maybe that was good. Maybe that was perfect.

  
Brad reached out to drop it on Kris's head. Kris was smaller than Adam so it fell down to rest on his ears, heavier than he had expected but not so bad. It must be solid silver, set with precious gems and probably worth more than the money Simon will spend getting Kris back.

  
"I couldn't—" he starts, reaching to take it off.

  
Brad catches his hands. "You can and you will. He would want you to have it." He grins and flicks it with one finger. "It's cute on you."

  
The mirror was cracked while Adam wore this circlet. It's not much—Adam could replace the glass at any time—but it's something. "Tell him—" Kris starts, then stops and shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. Goodbye, Brad."

  
Brad leans in to pull him into a tight hug. "Maybe I'll come down south some time, say hello."

  
"I look forward to it."

  
"If you change your mind about the party, my carriage won't leave for at least another half hour."

  
Kris smiles his thanks, but knows he won't. Tommy and Cale are at the party, if he wants to say goodbye to them he'll have to get up early.

  
He leaves Brad painting his lips black and heads for bed.

*

For an instant after opening the door, Kris thinks Adam has somehow had the guitar fixed in the few short hours since Kris broke it.

  
Then he properly takes in the dark red body, not entirely straight fretboard, the scratches across the base and the dark patch near the neck that are a result of keeping the instrument on a scuffed up stone floor, leaning against Cook's biggest oven.

  
He crosses over to it without even thinking, picking it up and running his fingers across the wood and the achingly familiar touch of the strings. He tunes it—a process which takes twice the amount of time on this guitar than it did on the new one—and eventually settles for a note which just about works. Perfection is overrated, anyway. Nothing is perfect.

  
He pushes that thought aside and focuses on playing it, plucking out songs he hasn't played in an age.

  
" _I gotta pack my things and get ready to go_  
 _Send me on my way_  
 _And if you could would you please pay my toll_  
 _Cause I gotta get out of this place and_  
 _This wasting time is getting old._ "

  
The guitar is out of tune already, he'd somehow forgotten it did that. In his mind it was perfectly imperfect, in reality he's finding it's just frustrating.

  
Simon must have brought it with him. He must have brought it and handed it to some servant with instructions to put it in Kris's room because Simon was thoughtful like that.

  
Except Kris had seen Simon ride into the courtyard and he hadn't been carrying any such thing. The only person who rode up with a guitar had been Monte.

  
Monte who would have had no reason to take a guitar down south, who would have had no reason to take a guitar case down south. Not unless he had been told to bring a certain guitar back.

  
 _You'd have to have done it already,_ Kris's own words echo in his head. _You'd have to have done it without needing to ask._

  
Adam had sent Monte before the queen sent her messenger. Adam hadn't needed to ask who Kris wanted to be sold to, because he knew Kris better than that.

  
Kris let the guitar fall from his fingers face down on the bed, tracing his fingers around the wood. Adam had sent Monte to Simon before he knew about Kris breaking the guitar, before Kris said he would have to do something amazing to win him back.

  
The guitar makes a strange noise when Kris sits on the bed next to it, and he picks it up with a frown. If he picks it up and shakes it, it makes the noise again. A low 'shh' as though something is moving back and forth inside.

  
He tips it upside down and shakes it until a sheet of paper drops into his lap. Casting the instrument aside, he picks the note up. It's written in Adam's hand, dated before Monte left the castle. It must have been sitting in the instrument for days.

  
 _Kris,_

  
 _I don't know when you'll get this. Maybe you're halfway home by now, maybe you're all the way there, but I couldn't let you leave without making one last attempt to find the right thing to say._

  
 _I sent another guitar down for your friends, Monte promises me it was one of the best and he even managed to find it in red. I hope they like it. Maybe you could let me know, some day._

  
 _I will let you go, because that's what you want. I will give you to Simon—the money is just a formality—and when I speak to him I'm going to request that the money I gave him for you goes towards publicising you as a minstrel. You're going to be amazing._

  
 _I had to beg, lie and cheat to make you mine._

  
 _You simply existed, and made me yours._

  
 _I love you, so I am letting you go but I want you to know that I will wait for you. A year, three years, a lifetime. My doors are always open, my bed will always be empty. This is the promise I make to you._

  
 _Your prince. Yours._

  
 _Adam._

Thirty Six  
"I still think you should have glammed up more."

  
Kris looks away from the window to Brad who has a miniature top hat perched on his bright blue hair. "We couldn't all dress up as peacocks, Brad."

  
Brad pouts. " _Inspired,_ by a peacock," he corrects, swishing the long coat to show off the individually created sections each embroidered with tiny glass beads picking out the shape of a peacock tail feather.

  
"If you say so." Kris turns back to the window, twisting the note between his fingers. It's almost torn in half already, he's been playing with it all evening as he sat impatiently on Brad's bed waiting for the other man to finish his make-up and get dressed.

  
"But you could look so amazing," Brad pleads, waving his eyeliner pencil optimistically.

  
Brad had threatened to cry if Kris went to the party in the white shirt he had been wearing when he tore through the castle desperate to catch Brad before he left. Since Brad crying would mean he'd have to start doing his eyes again from scratch, Kris had tugged out the black waistcoat from his first party and pulled it on over the white shirt.

  
Brad had torn half the buttons off ("So you can't do them up again when I'm not looking, baby.") and finally agreed to let Kris be his plus one. Apparently this didn't mean Kris was off the hook as far as last minute style advice.

  
"We are in a moving carriage, keep your sharp stick away from my eyes."

  
Brad gives a long-suffering sigh as though Kris cannot understand how hard it is to live his life. "Love is blind, Kris. Love is blind." He does slide the pencil back into some kind of invisible pocket in his sleeve and lean back against his seat to survey Kris again. "You know the circlet doesn't really—"

  
"Brad," Kris warns, reaching up to touch Adam's circlet with the hand that isn't obsessively brushing along the words 'I will wait for you.' "I'm done changing myself for him. If he loves me, it doesn't matter what I wear."

  
"Yes," Brad says, drawing the vowel out far longer than any reasonable man would. "But can't it not matter when he's taking you to the party rather than me?"

  
"Am I ruining your image, Brad?"

  
Brad gives him the big soulful eyes which mean 'I would never say such a thing' and also 'yes, yes you are.'

  
"Just tell them I'm the female peacock. All drab and brown just waiting for a glammed up peacock boyfriend to sweep me off my feet."

  
Brad kicks him in the leg and laughs. "I am a boy peacock who only sweeps up other boy peacocks, thank you very much." He pauses then adds. "And also I'm not a peacock, my outfit is simply inspired by the peacock genre."

  
"Brad, there's no such thing as the peacock genre. At some point you are going to have to admit that you are just dressed as a peacock."

  
Brad pouts for all of two seconds then turns his head to check out his reflection in the carriage windows. "I make a damn fabulous peacock."

  
Kris turns back to the window, clutching the note tightly in one hand, reaching out with the other to catch the red guitar as they jolt over a particularly severe rut in the road.

  
"What's that here for, anyway?" Brad asks.

  
Kris glances sideways to the instrument. The journey is knocking it up badly, it wasn't designed to be stuck in a carriage without any form of protective case. "It's... I have to give it back." He pulls it into his lap, turning back to the window. "I don't need it anymore."

*

Allison's mansion is lit up like a fairytale. The fact that it is more of a castle than a house only adds to the effect. Bowls of fire adorn the ramparts, flaming torches are ensconced down both sides of the passage across the drawbridge and into the main courtyard.

  
The serving staff are all immaculately dressed in black tailcoats with blue embroidery. Kris can't help smiling a little at Adam's obvious input into the outfits and the banners hung across the main doorway.

  
'Allison Iraheta's Glamtabulous eighteenth birthday extravanganza.'

  
Brad walks up behind Kris, his coat tails swishing from side the side across the stones with every twist of his hips. "Adam called in pretty much every favour he's ever been owed to put this together," he says happily. "Apparently Allison's dad wanted to bring in Danny Gokey to do the music. That was the point where Adam stepped in."

  
There is music coming from inside. Something loud with a pulsing beat that almost makes Kris wish he could dance.

  
"He called in a few favours to get Orianthi as an opener, and then Monte begged for at least a week and managed to convince Madonna to play." Brad laughs as Kris's mouth drops open.

  
Kris has actually _heard_ of Madonna. When she went down south he snuck out with Archie and Cook, so they could go and sit on the wall near where she was performing and just listen.

  
Simon caught them before they got off the grounds and presented them with three tickets that he'd managed to win in a card game, smiling at their shocked and grateful faces. "Go learn something," he'd said. "I expect you to play them all for me later."

  
Before Adam, that had been the best night of Kris's life.

  
"He'd do just about anything for that girl," Brad continues. "She's like his little sister. She's certainly amazing, have you heard her sing?"

  
Kris wonders if anyone Adam knows doesn't sing. "I've only met her twice."

  
"Well then, you're in for a treat." Brad holds out his arm. "Well, my delightful peacock bride. Shall we proceed?"

  
"You're ridiculous," Kris says, pushing the note into his pocket.

  
"Always," Brad says with a grin, leading Kris through the main doors and into an elaborate anteroom where a young man with a wide smile and a bright blue coat comes rushing forwards to meet them.

  
Brad releases Kris's arm to smile winningly at the stranger and Kris could swear he sees Brad lick his lips.

  
"Good evening, my lord," the man says with a somewhat rushed bow to Brad, ignoring Kris entirely. "May I see your invite please?"

  
Brad takes half a step closer, swinging his hips even more than usual so his coat falls at the most attractive angle. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

  
The man's eyes widen a little, but he is apparently a professional and just hold out a hand, not even reacting when Brad reaches down his shirt to pull the invite out and hand it over in a flourish. The man reads through it quickly then glances up. "Does your servant need somewhere to sit, we already have enough musicians I'm afraid."

  
Kris tightens his fingers on the neck of his guitar. "I'm his plus one."

  
"But not my date," Brad clarifies. "He's here at the last minute to find his true love and claim the kiss that will send this whole charade tumbling towards a fairytale happily ever after. I personally am single, if you were wondering."

  
A slight pinkness starts to touch the man's cheeks. "And how should I announce you?" he says, addressing the question to Kris as if to say 'go on. Impress me.'

  
"Kris Allen," Kris says, straightening his circlet and looking straight into the arrogant man's eyes. "I'm the prince's fucking boyfriend."

  
The herald opens his mouth, then slowly closes it again and turns mutely to Brad who helpfully adds - "Brad Bell, the prince's ex fucking boyfriend," - before turning to Kris to say. "It's nice that you specified, because this way there can be no doubt in his mind that you aren't the boyfriend that Adam doesn't fuck."

  
He turns back to the herald who is about as red as a tomato now. "And you are?"

  
"Ryan," the man manages in a very small voice. "I mean, um, herald Seacrest, my lord."

  
"A herald, huh," Brad murmurs appreciatively. "You must have a talented tongue, wouldn't you say?"

  
Ryan appears to have no idea how to cope with Brad's flirting technique of low dirty phrases accompanied by seductive eyes and arched eyebrows... followed by a bright grin and a laugh.

  
"Brad," Kris interrupts impatiently because sure Adam said forever but he was expecting Kris to be miles away when he found out so maybe 'forever' just means 'well you won't find out.' "Can we move this along?"

  
Ryan jumps to attention, bowing deeply to Kris. "My lord," he says, which is just plain weird because Kris is used to being the one doing the reverential thing. "This way." He leads them across the atrium towards a pair of huge double doors.

  
"He's cute," Brad mutters in Kris's ear. "Don't you think he's cute?"

  
Kris shrugs because all he can think is 'he's not Adam' which is pretty much all the criteria Kris needs to choose a boyfriend right now. "I don't know, he's no burlesque dancer."

  
"I know, but a herald. A herald, Kris. Just imagine the possibilities."

  
Kris is interrupted from trying not to imagine any possibilities at all by Ryan pushing the doors open and a wave of sound hitting them like a wall. Madonna—Madonna!—is on the stage wearing as little as possible and dancing with a girl who had to be Allison, no one else could have that many colours in their hair.

  
Ryan coughs. "Presenting, Kris Allen and Brad Bell, the prince's entourage." His voice is impressively loud, in that it travels all of a meter before being drowned out by the music.

  
There are more people in the crowd than Kris has seen in his entire life. Adam certainly knows how to throw a party and it looks like it would be fantastic except that Kris is standing at the top of a very small staircase with a guitar in one hand and no idea where to go next.

  
Brad grabs Ryan's wrist before he can sidle away. "Do you know where the prince is?"

  
Ryan glances at the thriving crowd and shakes his head which pretty much puts an end to Kris's only plan of action.

  
He could spend all night pushing through that crowd and never find anyone. He isn't exactly dressed to stick out—damn Brad being right for once—and he doesn't know enough nobles to ask around, he's just waste the whole evening trying to explain who he was and why he wasn't with Adam already.

  
"Well," says Brad slowly. "The acoustics from the stage are excellent. This is definitely the most amazing party Adam has ever thrown. It's just a pity the stage is the only place you can hear anything."

  
Kris's thoughts are pulled up short and he glances around to check Brad still has Ryan in captivity. "Do you know how to get backstage?"

  
"It's not allowed—"Ryan starts but Kris just slings the guitar onto his back and tugs the circlet off his head, waving it in the herald's face.

  
"Do you see this? This was made by Cassidy Haley for the prince as a substitute for a crown. This is the symbol of the heir to the throne of this entire kingdom. I am legally his consort which means as long as he isn't in the vicinity I can speak for him and with his authority. Now, do you know how to get backstage?"

  
Ryan swallows and nods weakly.

  
"Great."

  
Kris turns to Brad who is watching him curiously. "Mind telling me what you're planning?"

  
Kris smiles, dropping the circlet back onto his head. "How would you like to meet Madonna?"

Thirty Seven  
Kris gets somewhat star struck, but luckily Brad doesn't know the meaning of the word 'speechless.' "Oh My God," he says delightedly as Madonna runs into them coming off stage. "You know I am totally in love with your music. And you, obviously, but in a gay way. In the sense that I'm gay, not that I would have to be gay to like you."

  
Madonna looks startled at the sudden presence of a blue haired babbling peacock standing in front of her, but she covers it well. "Excuse me, I have a costume change."

  
Ryan seems to be hiding behind the tail of Brads' coat. Kris really doesn't blame him. It might be the platform heels or just the incredible amount of star quality emanating from her, but Madonna seems to tower over all three of them.

  
"I can't let you do that," Brad says, moving very slightly so he's blocking the corridor.

  
This seems to Kris more like the set up to some kind of kidnap than a polite request to temporarily pause the show, but he suspects all that would come out if he tried to speak would be some kind of incomprehensible high pitched _eep._

  
Madonna arches her perfectly formed eyebrows. "And why not?"

  
"Well firstly, you're not going back on the stage. Secondly, we need the place to go quiet. Thirdly—and most importantly—I peeked at your costume rail while we were coming down here and there is no way you are going on stage in that outfit."

  
Kris grabs Brad's arm and pulls him aside, leaving Ryan to block the corridor by cowering up at the singer. "We're not here to insult her," Kris hisses. "Can't you just ask nicely?"

  
Brad rolls his eyes and shakes his arm free. "Of course not, she's a diva. You have to treat divas just right or they'll walk right over—hey!"

  
Madonna has turned around and is walking back towards the stage. "If you won't let me change, I'll just perform in this. The show must go on."

  
"Ryan, Ryan get her!"

  
Ryan looks between Brad and Madonna, managing to be indecisive long enough for Brad to race past him, trip over the hem of his coat and send both himself and Madonna into a heap of bodyparts and leather. "What the _fuck?_ " Madonna demands, elbowing Brad's arm to try and get up.

  
"Run, Kris, run!" Brad shouts, looking far happier than he has any right to be.

  
"This was not the plan," Kris protests.

  
"Well the plan sucked," Brad replies, as Madonna drives her stilettos into his leg. "I'm—ow—improvising. Ryan, help me out here."

  
Ryan looks like he wishes he'd never got out of bed this morning, but he does wonder over to the Brad-Madonna pile and push his toe aimlessly at some point of writhing flesh.

  
"Get this fucker off me," Madonna snaps. "Or I will make sure you never work again." She twists her hips and somehow ends up on top of Brad, though when she tries to stand up he kicks her legs out from under her and they're back in a pile again.

  
"Ryan, Ryan, save me!" Brad cries, though he looks as though he's having the time of his life.

  
Ryan looks up at Kris as though he expects Kris to tell him what to do. "Can I have a royal order?" he asks weakly.

  
Kris is supposed to give orders that Adam would agree with and Adam likes Madonna. He reaches into his pocket to touch the scrap of paper. "Delay them," he says.

  
Ryan inclines his head. "My lord," he says, before diving on top of the pile to Brad's war cry of "You tore my coat, you will pay!"

  
Kris sidesteps carefully around, jumping over flailing arms and legs until he reaches the wings of the stage and looks out. The band are still up there, Monte and LP and Tommy, all of whom are occasionally glancing into the shadows as though trying to work out where Madonna has gone.

  
Tommy is the closest, so he sees Kris first and edges carefully sideways until he is close enough to speak in a whisper. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

  
Kris tightens his hand on the paper in his pocket. "I need to speak to Adam."

  
"Don't you think you've left it a bit late for that? Adam isn't up here. If you wanted to talk to him, you should have come to the fucking party with him. Where the fuck is Madonna?"

  
Kris waves vaguely behind him. "Brad was distracting her. It was supposed to be non-violent but I think he got carried away."

  
"Oh shit." Tommy looks over Kris's shoulder to the darkened corridor. "Fuck. The crowd is getting restless. This is the worst plan anyone has ever come up with."

  
"Probably," Kris agrees and next thing he knows Tommy is pulling him out onto the stage. "Wait, what—"

  
"You wanted to talk to Adam," Tommy grumbles into his ear, pushing him into the middle of the stage. "Go."

  
The crowds fall silent as Tommy releases Kris. Adam is—Kris still can't see Adam anywhere. The band stops playing, Monte crossing to say something to Tommy then heading backstage, presumably to rescue the most famous singer in the country.

  
Oh god, Kris just let Brad attack the most famous singer in the country. Adam isn't going to take him back. Adam isn't going to change his mind. Adam is going to _kill_ him.

  
"Say something," Tommy hisses.

  
Kris stares at the sea of unfamiliar faces and remembers what Adam said about needing time to find the right words.

  
Kris doesn't have time—he has as long as it takes for Monte to pull Brad and Ryan off Madonna which will probably be pretty quick since he is at least twice as strong as Brad and Ryan combined—and he's never been good with words.

  
"Kris," Tommy again, stepping back so he can look down the corridor. "Move or speak or just do something."

  
Kris swallows and suddenly remembers the guitar on his back, swinging it around so it rests against his front, like a barricade between him and the thousands of people watching him and starting to mutter amongst themselves.

  
Kris always hated playing to one or two people because you could see what they liked and what they didn't and it was like being instantly judged.

  
But large crowds? He always found them easy and he's tuning the guitar without thinking about it, letting the muttering fade into the background until he's satisfied with the instrument and then he strikes a chord.

  
 _"I could break this silence with, words we wish we'd never said_   
_But I can hear it like a scream, what's become of you and me_   
_Are we still inside this night, or am I going crazy?"_

  
He can never think of what to say, but with the right accompaniment what to sing has always been easy. Tommy and LP don't hesitate before joining in.

  
 _'I will wait for you',_ Kris thinks fiercely.

  
 _"I'm just trying to understand, who I was and who I am_   
_You are changing just the same, so can you tell me who's to blame_   
_Could we put our weapons down, just to figure this out_   
_Now pride is out the door cause I know we can make it before_   
_Make it before the sun breaks another day_   
_I'll wait till you say I'm the only one_   
_Before we come, before we come undone"_

  
He glances sideways to see Monte and Madonna standing in the wings. Her hair is slightly messed up, but she doesn't look particularly the worse for wear.

  
Kris turns away and—finally—finds Adam in the crowd. He's standing right in the centre, surrounded by people who are slowly turning from him towards the stage as though he's stopped talking to watch. His mouth is slightly open, disbelieving.

  
Kris finds the right words.

  
 _"When I said it was too late, those were words I couldn't take_   
_And this night is out to kill, and if we let it it will_   
_Can we both forgive somehow_   
_Cause I'm not letting you down now."_

  
Adam doesn't hesitate, pushing forwards through the crowd as Kris sings the chorus on autopilot, watching him. He's wearing a long black coat that clings to every curve of his body.

  
Kris knows that body, he knows it so well. He knows where the freckles are, how they taste, where to touch to make Adam throw his head back and cry Kris's name.

  
He knows what that mouth looks like when it shapes the words 'I love you.'

  
 _"Before we come undone,"_ he finishes, striking the last chord on autopilot, watching Adam where he stands in front of the stage. "My prince."

  
Near the back of the room Kris can see Allison grinning from ear to ear, Cowell frowning, the queen scowling and pushing her way forward through the crowd.

  
None of that matters though, because at the front of the room Adam is standing, looking up at Kris and in front of every noble in the court; in front of the dukes, the lord and his parents he says—loud enough for the whole hall to hear—"I love you."

  
Of course it isn't that easy, because nothing in Kris's life is ever easy and the queen is already nearly next to her son. "You can't," she says, without hesitation. "You can't keep that gutter trash minstrel as your consort. I forbid it."

  
Adam looks at him, his eyes desperate as though he knows what's coming and is looking for a way out, any way out. He wants Kris to say 'ignore her' or 'we can fight this.'

  
Kris just looks back at him. "Hear that, my prince," he says, standing there with his fingers resting on the strings of the old red guitar. "She forbids it."

  
Adam swallows, clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice carries all around the hall. "Kristopher Allen," he starts, then stops for a long moment.

  
"Kris," he tries again. "I set you... You're free to go."

  
Kris wants to laugh and maybe sing but he just reaches for the neck of his guitar and pulls it off over his head, tossing it to the side somewhere. There is a crack that is maybe the sound of it breaking but he doesn't need it anymore. There will be more guitars.

  
He holds out his hands to pull Adam up onto the stage. "I'm not going anywhere."

  
He has to stand up on his tiptoes to kiss Adam but it is worth it because Adam's arms wrap around him. His lips are soft and he tastes faintly of wine but mostly of warmth and love. Someone in the audience—probably Allison—cheers, and somehow that starts a round of applause.

  
"You promised to wait for me," Kris whispers, running his fingers through Adam's hair and thinking maybe he'll never let go. "For how long?"

  
Adam's face falls very slightly. "Forever."

  
"Great." Kris pushes up to kiss him lightly again. "Give me five minutes with the buffet. I can't even remember the last time I ate-"

  
Adam cuts him off by leaning in for another kiss.

  
Food is overrated, really.

Thirty Eight  
They walk past Madonna on the way off stage and Kris manages to garble an awkward, embarrassed apology for Brad attacking her and ruining the plan and, you know, Brad in general.

  
Madonna just laughs. "He got distracted pretty quickly as soon as his boyfriend joined in."

  
Kris opens his mouth to say Brad doesn't have a boyfriend, then closes it again because—well—he can't imagine that has ever stopped Brad.

  
"Anyway," Madonna continues. "That was a good performance, an amazing song as well. Have you ever thought about becoming a minstrel?"

  
Adam laughs and Madonna fixes him with a cold look. "It's a perfectly admirable profession, Prince Lambert. We cannot all be royalty." She turns back to Kris and leans in to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "If you ever get tired of this arrogant prince and want a chance to make real music, come find me."

  
Adam's fingers tighten on Kris's hand and he starts moving impatiently away. Kris holds still without too much effort, long enough to lean in and kiss Madonna back—almost hyperventilating the whole time. "Thank you," he forces out over the screaming in his head that's just yelling Madonna's name at him over and over again. "That means, well, everything."

  
She laughs. "You're sweet. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to put on." She inclines her head briefly to Adam. "Prince."

  
Kris stops resisting, letting Adam drag him off stage. "You're totally jealous of Madonna, aren't you?"

  
Adam pushes him against the wall and leans in to kiss him again. This time there's nobody watching and the kiss segues into biting and sucking, Adam's fingers curving around Kris's ass and Kris's hands pushing against the waistline of Adam's pants.

  
Kris pushes Adam back when his stomach starts rumbling audibly. "Food."

  
"Later," Adam suggests.

  
Kris laughs, and ducks out from Adam's arms. "We don't always do what you want anymore, Adam." It's said lightly, but there is definitely the undercurrent of 'there are things that have to be talked about.'

  
"You got my letter," Adam says, and it isn't a question.

  
"All overdramatic and full of easily breakable promises?" Kris says, still keeping his voice light and when Adam reaches for his hand he pushes them into the pockets of the waistcoat as though he didn't see.

  
"I would never break them," Adam says, tugging on his arm to make him stop in the middle of the corridor. "You're my boyfriend, my partner, I would never—"

  
Kris tugs his arm free. "I'm not your anything, Adam. I don't belong to you." It's strange to be able to say it, strange to know that no one owns him. He can go anywhere, he can do anything and as much as he loves Adam, it is important that the prince understands.

  
"I'm yours," Adam replies quietly, his blue eyes so sincere and apologetic as though he thinks he's done something wrong. "I said... and I meant it. Always."

  
"I know," Kris says, because Adam looks like he might cry. "I know, but you chose that. You have to give me time to choose."

  
Adam brightens noticeably. "So you're not saying there's no chance?"

  
Kris laughs and leans up to kiss him. "There's plenty of chance. But I've belonged to people all my life, I want at least a week of being my own before I go promising myself to the first guy who swept me off my feet." He reaches for Adam's hand and they continue walking round and then pauses.

  
He doesn't want to say it—he's just got Adam back, he's starting to hope again—but it has to be done. "You need to be better."

  
Adam frowns, tilting his head quizzically to one side. Kris keeps looking at the passage in front of them so he doesn't get distracted. "What?" Adam prompts.

  
Kris stays quiet for a moment because this is important and if he says the wrong thing now he could bring it all tumbling down. Or he could spend the rest of his life holding up the walls. "You need to be better," he says again, because it seems like a good place to start. "The dramatic gesture—the guitar, the note—it was romantic and it meant something. I get that you're sorry, I get that you want this to work and I do too so I'm here."

  
"I love—"

  
"I know," Kris interrupts because he does and Adam was right the first time, he doesn't need to hear it. "But it can't all be mistakes and reconciliations. You can't forget me every time an old fling walks in through the door. If I don't want to go out, you can't hire someone to go instead." He stops again, trying to work out what he wants to say. "You can't assume I'll always be there when you want me, but you have to trust that I'll be there when you need me." He glances sideways to see Adam staring at his hands, looking contrite and ashamed.

  
"I'm sorry," he says to the floor. "I... I don't know how else to say it. Can we, maybe, start over?"

  
"No," Kris says and watches Adams face fall before adding. "But we can carry on where we left off, if you like." He reaches out for Adam's hand and feels warm fingers close on his as the prince turns to look at him, his face full of hope. "And I love you too," Kris adds. "Naturally."

  
To be fair, he shouldn't have expected to get as far as the buffet table—or, indeed, further than the next secluded alcove—after a line like that.

  
They had left off halfway through the Great Sexpedition, after all.

*

The queen somehow manages to converge on them the moment they slip back into the main room, an impressive feat considering they had stayed in that alcove until their legs ached and Kris's stomach was moaning louder than his mouth.

  
Adam pushes Kris away so he can deal with his mother and—because he has the worst luck in the world—Kris ends up face to face with Simon Cowell.

  
He bows, because he doesn't have a claim to any authority that would mean he didn't have to bow, but stands up as soon as possible. "Lord Cowell."

  
Cowell folds his hands behind his back. "Mr Allen," he says, putting a snide emphasis on the 'mr'. "I see you have once again claimed the position of Prince Adam's date."

  
"I prefer the term boyfriend."

  
Cowell raises his eyebrows. "You do, do you? And do you really think you are the best suited for that position? Of all the consorts in all the world?"

  
Kris raises his head to look right in Cowell's smug British eyes. "There's probably people that are better than me. But you know what? I won, in the end." He takes half a step forward. "So what does that say about the relevance of your opinions?"

  
He doesn't want for Cowell to find an answer, just pushes past and goes to find his boyfriend.

*

Brad finds them—some time later—eating beside the buffet table. Or rather, Kris is eating and Adam is licking the sauce off his fingers every time he finishes a mouthful.

  
Brad still has Ryan with him, though the herald has somehow lost his regulation jacket and he looks thoroughly ravished. Brad, on the other hand, hasn't so much as smudged his make-up. Kris can't say he's surprised. "Are you stealing my date, Lambert?" Brad asks happily, not bothering with any kind of greeting.

  
Adam sucks the end of Kris's middle finger slowly. "I am," he replies, dropping a kiss into Kris's palm. "Or maybe he's stolen himself, since he's free to do as he likes and all."

  
Brad claps his hands together. "Finally," he says, beaming. "I'm going to take you to Paris. Kris, I mean. Adam you're not allowed to come."

  
Kris wonders how to explain that just because he's free to go doesn't mean he's planning to go anywhere. "I'm still dating Adam, Brad. I can't just leave."

  
Brad waves this objection off with one hand. "Of course you can leave, I just have to remember to bring you back."

  
Adam licks thoughtfully down Kris's thumb then raises his head to look over at Brad. "You're not staying, then? I suppose that would have been too much to hope for."

  
Brad laughs. "I'm a free spirit, my prince, I've got to go where the wind takes me." He gives Kris a sordid grin. "Anyway, I have just come up with the nickname 'Cheeks' and I need to find a suitably skeevy profession in which I can use it."

  
"If you turn my boyfriend into a hooker," Adam says casually. "I will end you."

  
Brad salutes. "Duly noted. Now, I have some important business with Ryan here and we need a new secluded spot since Madonna is never letting us back into her dressing room." He pushes himself to his feet, carefully swishing his coat around his legs as he does so. "Come, Ryan."

  
Kris leans his head back on Adam's shoulder. "I bet Madonna would let us use her dressing room. I think she liked me." Adam's fingers tightened a little on his waist and he grins a little. "Were you jealous? You were totally jealous, weren't you?"

  
Adam kisses the back of his neck and mumbles "shut up" but when Kris looks around at him, his face is lightly red beneath the make-up. "You blushed," Kris crows. "I made you blush, I win."

  
"You blush all the time."

  
"That's because I'm the sweet innocent singer/songwriter who everyone adores and you're the big bad prince who corrupted me and led me astray with chains and leather."

  
Adam tugs lightly until Kris is straddling his lap and can lean down for a kiss, teasing Adam's lips beneath his until he is forced to go up for air. "There is no way you are innocent," Adam says, his lips already turning red. "This is all just a facade to throw people off the scent."

  
"Mmm," Kris agrees, dragging his fingers through Adam's hair to send beads and feathers everywhere. "You caught me."

  
Adam smiles, reaching up to touch his face with one hand. "The question is, what do I do with you now?"

  
"Oh," Kris slides one hand down and up under the fabric of Adam's shirt. "I could think of a few things."

  
"Hello," Madonna says on stage as the whole crowd start clapping. "I have a message for you all from the birthday girl herself! Lady Allison Iraheta wants her parents to know she loves them very much, wants to thank everyone involved in planning what she calls 'the coolest party ever' and wants the Prince and his boyfriend to move their private business somewhere else."

  
Kris glances over at the stage. "Do you think we should move?"

  
"She might come and attack us if we don't. It's a risk."

  
Kris laughs and reaches for the buttons of Adam's top. "Everything is. But risks have worked out well for me so far."

Epilogue  
They go to Conway in the spring. Kris, Adam, Tommy and Cale. Brad fucked off the moment he and Kris got back from Paris with a trunk full to bursting of clothes Brad swore he needed and Kris swore he'd never wear in a million years.

  
Two months passed without a word and Kris was starting to think Brad had pulled another vanishing act when a messenger turned up with five pages of rough scrawl which meandered from one topic to another with no sense of purpose. As far as Kris could tell, Brad had met Cassidy at a fashion show in New York and then there was something involving a stripper and now he wasn't welcome in any part of Canada for the next six years.

  
Kris and Adam wrote a reply together. Kris wrote that they were all well, he was enjoying exploring the city and visiting Simon every few weeks and it was nice to see that the weather was improving because it was about time spring arrived. Adam wrote that they were all well, he was enjoying exploring Kris and it was nice to see that it was getting warmer because Kris wore less clothes. He added that the sex was improving—and that was a feat because it had started awesome.

  
Kris only posted his half of the letter, signing Adam's name alongside his own, but he kept Adam's half in a drawer to smile at every once in a while.

  
The carriage to Conway is a laugh. They make a pact to leave all formalities in the castle, Adam dresses down—well, there is less actual silver on his outfit than usual—and the two pairs alternate who sits up front to lead the horses and who makes out in the carriage behind.

  
Sitting up front allows Kris to really see the whole countryside, the flowers that are just starting to blossom across all the fields, the cities and towns they pass through where people occasionally bow their heads as a royal carriage trundles past. No one recognises Kris, but a couple of people look shrewdly at Adam and drop to their knees.

  
"Should you be in disguise?" Kris asks.

  
Adam laughs, wrapping an arm tight around his shoulders. "Let them go home and tell their children they saw the prince smile today. Let the commoners talk about the beautiful boy on the prince's arm."

  
Kris smiles, blushes and tilts his head for a kiss. "It's already all the nobles are talking about. How inappropriate it is, how I should be shipped off somewhere far away. You know your mother tried to convince me to join the army, maybe she thinks your brother will be able to discipline all the love out of me."

  
Adam manages a laugh, but pulls him tighter and the next time the road is clear he stops the carriage to swap out with Tommy and Cale. They close the shutters on the windows and Adam reaches out. "Don't listen to my mother, she can't make you do anything."

  
Kris reaches for Adam, pushing down the rich leather jacket to reveal freckled arms. "I know. I'm not going anywhere."

  
*

  
Conway is just as beautiful as Katy promised it would be, in her original invitation and in every letter since then. They arrive at night to a large house with lanterns burning in every window and Katy runs out of the main gates to greet them; hugging Cale, shaking the hands of Tommy and Adam and kissing Kris warmly on both cheeks.

  
She takes Kris's arm to show them to their rooms, promising a full tour as soon as they are up the next day. Kris and Adam's room is fairly small, lit by a single lamp in the window, and filled to bursting by a king size bed with all associated trimmings.

  
"Our chef is amazing," Katy promises, as she kisses Kris's cheeks again in farewell. "So I want both of you down for breakfast, understand?" She gives them a mock glare, hands on her hips, then laughs and reaches for Cale's arm to lead the other two away.

  
Adam pounces the moment the door is closed, sliding his arms around Kris's waist and burying his face in the back of Kris's neck, kissing and biting lightly as his fingers slide up under the hem of Kris's shirt.

  
Kris smiles and relaxes into it, letting Adam spin him around and pull the shirt off over his head before looping his own hands around Adam's neck and leaning up to kiss his lips. "Looks like we're alone at last."

  
Adam kisses back, tongue swiping quickly around Kris's mouth before pulling away and leaning into his neck, sucking and biting at the skin. Kris twists his fingers in Adam's hair and lets out a soft moan as the prince's knee slides between his legs and he is pushed back against the door—

  
Adam is muttering something and it takes a moment for Kris to pick up on it because his lips—and, god, his tongue—are moving slowly down his chest pausing to suck and bite and _fuck—_

  
"Mine," Adam whispers against Kris's nipple. "Mine, mine, _fuck Kris do that again_ , mine."

  
Kris reaches down again, only this time he doesn't brush is hand over Adam's straining pants, he pushes his fingers down through the waistband and praises Adam's choice not to wear leather because that would have been fucking tight and he wouldn't be able to trace down Adam's cock with his fingertips and hear the groan echo through his whole body.

  
"Yours?" Kris says, as Adam takes one hand away from Kris's waist to push his own pants down and—fuck—Kris will never get used to how fucking amazing Adam looks naked with his cock straining and his face twisted in desperation and _wanting._

  
He leans in to lick up Kris's neck, reaching for Kris's pants now, sucking on his throat and his jaw and his ear and not saying anything.

  
Kris slides his fingers around Adam's cock and Adam whimpers a little. "Yours?" Kris asks again.

  
"She can't have you," Adam says in a sudden rush. "She can't—she let you go and you're mine you have to—"

  
Kris cuts him off with a kiss that Adam opens for desperately, pressing their bodies closer together as though he can force them into one person. "Yours," he agrees, when the kiss breaks, carefully not adding that Adam is fucking hot when he's jealous. "Not going anywhere." Full sentences are difficult when Adam is pushing his pants down over his ass and tracing his fingers up and down the crack. "Love you," he manages, as Adam comes all over his hand.

  
"Love you," Adam echoes, voice strained as he lifts Kris against the wall so he can wrap his legs around Adam's waist. "So fucking much."

  
"So fucking much," Kris agrees as Adam holds him up long enough to cross the room and drop him on the bed. There is a small jar of oil on the table beside them with a note that Kris doesn't have a chance to read before Adam is spreading him out and climbing on top of him, pressing kisses against every inch of skin then dropping down and Kris is already hard when Adam's lips brush his cock and it probably doesn't count as a blowjob if he comes right then.

  
*

  
The note was another reminder to go to breakfast. Kris finally gets a chance to read it at noon when the oil runs out and he laughs a little at Katy's added 'Enjoy!' followed by a drawing of a happy face.

  
The fields roll out to the horizon, the flowers bloom while they're there and fill the countryside with every colour under the sun. They have sex in a grove in the woods and when Adam falls asleep Kris braids daisies into his hair.

  
Katy's fiancé - Charles - is handsome, charming and seems to have read every book in the world. He comes over for dinner every evening, and afterwards is content to sit and listen to all the impromptu music performances that Katy demands from every single one of her guests.

  
They play poker one night. Charles pulls out a pack of cards and a stack of some kind of chip to bet instead of money—"Just a nice game between friends, I think." Kris claims he doesn't really know how to play and retires to the window seat instead, reaching for the new red guitar that Cale had bought him as an apology.

  
Adam joins him a moment later, pushing him forwards slightly so he can slide in behind and Kris can settle between his legs, Adam's warms wrapping around his waist. "You can play," Kris says. "I don't mind. I mean, I've seen you play. You'd probably win."

  
Adam laughs and kisses him. "I've already won."

  
His hands slide under Kris's top to touch bare skin and Kris smiles. "I think, maybe, I won too."

  
They don't stay in the drawing room long after that.


End file.
